PROTEGEE 
•  OF  -JKCK 
HAMLIN'S'BY 
BRET-  HKRTE 


ORARY 

JN1VERSITYOF 
CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  CRUZ 


t&e  game  &ttt|)0r. 


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HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY, 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


A  PROTfiGEE    OF   JACK 
HAMLIN'S 


AND    OTHER   STORIES 


BY 


BRET   HARTE 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 


1894 


Copyright,  1894, 
BY  BRET  HARTE. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass..  U.S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  and  Company. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

A  PROTEGEE  OF  JACK  HAMLIN'S  ....  1 
AN  INGENUE  OF  THE  SIERRAS  ....  58 
THE  REFORMATION  OF  JAMES  REDDY  .  .  93 

THE  HEIR  OF  THE  McHuiiSHES  .  .  .  154 
AN  EPISODE  OF  WEST  WOODLANDS  .  .  .  221 
THE  HOME-COMING  OF  JIM  WILKES  .  .  .  272 


A  PROTEGEE  OF  JACK  HAMLIN'S. 


I. 

THE  steamer  Silveropolis  was  sharply 
and  steadily  cleaving  the  broad,  placid  shal- 
lows of  the  Sacramento  River.  A  large 
wave  like  an  eagre,  diverging  from  its  bow, 
was  extending  to  either  bank,  swamping 
the  tules  and  threatening  to  submerge  the 
lower  levees.  The  great  boat  itself  —  a  vast 
but  delicate  structure  of  airy  stories,  hang- 
ing galleries,  fragile  colonnades,  gilded  cor- 
nices, and  resplendent  frescoes  —  was  throb- 
bing throughout  its  whole  perilous  length 
with  the  pulse  of  high  pressure  and  the 
strong  monotonous  beat  of  a  powerful  pis- 
ton. Floods  of  foam  pouring  from  the 
high  paddle  -  boxes  on  either  side  and  re- 
uniting in  the  wake  of  the  boat  left  behind 
a  track  of  dazzling  whiteness,  over  which 
trailed  two  dense  black  banners  flung  from 
its  lofty  smokestacks. 


2         A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlirfs. 

Mr.  Jack  Hamlin  had  quietly  emerged 
from  his  stateroom  on  deck  and  was  look- 
ing over  the  guards.  His  hands  were  rest- 
ing lightly  on  his  hips  over  the  delicate 
curves  of  his  white  waistcoat,  and  he  was 
whistling  softly,  possibly  some  air  to  which 
he  had  made  certain  card-playing  passen- 
gers dance  the  night  before.  He  was  in 
comfortable  case,  and  his  soft  brown  eyes 
under  their  long  lashes  were  veiled  with 
gentle  tolerance  of  all  things.  He  glanced 
lazily  along  the  empty  hurricane  deck  for- 
ward; he  glanced  lazily  down  to  the  saloon 
deck  below  him.  Far  out  against  the 
guards  below  him  leaned  a  young  girl. 
Mr.  Hamlin  knitted  his  brows  slightly. 

He  remembered  her  at  once.  She  had 
come  on  board  that  morning  with  one  Ned 
Stratton,  a  brother  gambler,  but  neither  a 
favorite  nor  intimate  of  Jack's.  From  cer- 
tain indications  in  the  pair,  Jack  had  in- 
ferred that  she  was  some  foolish  or  reckless 
creature  whom  "Ed '"  had  "got  on  a  string," 
and  was  spiriting  away  from  her  friends 
and  family.  With  the  abstract  morality  of 
this  situation  Jack  was  not  in  the  least  con- 
cerned. For  himself  he  did  not  indulge  in 
that  sort  of  game;  the  inexperience  and 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlins.        3 

vacillations  of  innocence  were  apt  to  be 
bothersome,  and  besides,  a  certain  modest 
doubt  of  his  own  competency  to  make  an 
original  selection  had  always  made  him  pre- 
fer to  confine  his  gallantries  to  the  wives  of 
men  of  greater  judgment  than  himself  who 
had.  But  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that 
he  had  seen  Stratton  quickly  slip  off  the 
boat  at  the  last  landing  stage.  Ah!  that 
was  it ;  he  had  cast  away  and  deserted  her. 
It  was  an  old  story.  Jack  smiled.  But  he 
was  not  greatly  amused  with  Stratton. 

She  was  very  pale,  and  seemed  to  be  cling- 
ing to  the  network  railing,  as  if  to  support 
herself,  although  she  was  gazing  fixedly  at 
the  yellow  glancing  current  below,  which 
seemed  to  be  sucked  down  and  swallowed 
in  the  paddle-box  as  the  boat  swept  on.  It 
certainly  was  a  fascinating  sight  —  this 
sloping  rapid,  hurrying  on  to  bury  itself 
under  the  crushing  wheels.  For  a  brief 
moment  Jack  saw  how  they  would  seize  any- 
thing floating  on  that  ghastly  incline,  whirl 
it  round  in  one  awful  revolution  of  the  beat- 
ing paddles,  and  then  bury  it,  broken  and 
shattered  out  of  all  recognition,  deep  in  the 
muddy  undercurrent  of  the  stream  behind 
them. 


4         A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlins. 

She  moved  away  presently  with  an  odd, 
stiff  step,  chafing  her  gloved  hands  together 
as  if  they  had  become  stiffened  too  in  her 
rigid  grasp  of  the  railing.  Jack  leisurely 
watched  her  as  she  moved  along  the  narrow 
strip  of  deck.  She  was  not  at  all  to  his 
taste,  —  a  rather  plump  girl  with  a  rustic 
manner  and  a  great  deal  of  brown  hair 
under  her  straw  hat.  She  might  have 
looked  better  had  she  not  been  so  haggard. 
When  she  reached  the  door  of  the  saloon 
she  paused,  and  then,  turning  suddenly, 
began  to  walk  quickly  back  again.  As  she 
neared  the  spot  where  she  had  been  stand- 
ing her  pace  slackened,  and  when  she 
reached  the  railing  she  seemed  to  relapse 
against  it  in  her  former  helpless  fashion. 
Jack  became  lazily  interested.  Suddenly 
she  lifted  her  head  and  cast  a  quick  glance 
around  and  above  her.  In  that  momentary 
lifting  of  her  face  Jack  saw  her  expres- 
sion. Whatever  it  was,  his  own  changed  in- 
stantly; the  next  moment  there  was  a  crash 
on  the  lower  deck.  It  was  Jack  who  had 
swung  himself  over  the  rail  and  dropped  ten 
feet,  to  her  side.  But  not  before  she  had 
placed  one  foot  in  the  meshes  of  the  netting 
and  had  gripped  the  railing  for  a  spring. 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlirfs.        5 

The  noise  of  Jack's  fall  might  have 
seemed  to  her  bewildered  fancy  as  a  part 
of  her  frantic  act,  for  she  fell  forward 
vacantly  on  the  railing.  But  by  this  time 
Jack  had  grasped  her  arm  as  if  to  help 
himself  to  his  feet. 

"I  might  have  killed  myself  by  that 
foolin',  mightn't  I?"  he  said  cheerfully. 

The  sound  of  a  voice  so  near  her  seemed 
to  recall  to  her  dazed  sense  the  uncompleted 
action  his  fall  had  arrested.  She  made  a 
convulsive  bound  towards  the  railing,  but 
Jack  held  her  fast. 

"Don't,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "don't, 
it  won't  pay.  It 's  the  sickest  game  that 
ever  was  played  by  man  or  woman.  Come 
here!" 

He  drew  her  towards  an  empty  state- 
room whose  door  was  swinging  on  its  hinges 
a  few  feet  from  them.  She  was  trembling 
violently ;  he  half  led,  half  pushed  her  into 
the  room,  closed  the  door  and  stood  with  his 
back  against  it  as  she  dropped  into  a  chair. 
She  looked  at  him  vacantly;  the  agitation 
she  was  undergoing  inwardly  had  left  her 
no  sense  of  outward  perception. 

"You  know  Stratton  would  be  awfully 
riled,"  continued  Jack  easily.  "He's  just 


6         A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamliris. 

stepped  out  to  see  a  friend  and  got  left  by 
the  fool  boat.  He  '11  be  along  by  the  next 
steamer,  and  you  're  bound  to  meet  him  in 
Sacramento." 

Her  staring  eyes  seemed  suddenly  to 
grasp  his  meaning.  But  to  his  surprise  she 
burst  out  with  a  certain  hysterical  despera- 
tion, "No!  no!  Never!  never  again!  Let 
me  pass!  I  must  go,"  and  struggled  to 
regain  the  door.  Jack,  albeit  singularly 
relieved  to  know  that  she  shared  his  private 
sentiments  regarding  Stratton,  nevertheless 
resisted  her.  Whereat  she  suddenly  turned 
white,  reeled  back,  and  sank  in  a  dead  faint 
in  the  chair. 

The  gambler  turned,  drew  the  key  from 
the  inside  of  the  door,  passed  out,  locking 
it  behind  him,  and  walked  leisurely  into  the 
main  saloon.  "Mrs.  Johnson,"  he  said 
gravely,  addressing  the  stewardess,  a  tall 
mulatto,  with  his  usual  winsome  suprem- 
acy over  dependents  and  children,  "you  '11 
oblige  me  if  you  '11  corral  a  few  smelling- 
salts,  vinaigrettes,  hairpins,  and  violet  pow- 
der, and  unload  them  in  deck  stateroom  No. 
257.  There's  a  lady "- 

"A  lady,  Marse  Hamlin?"  interrupted 
the  mulatto,  with  an  archly  significant  flash 
of  her  white  teeth. 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamliris.        1 

"A  lady,"  continued  Jack  with  una- 
bashed gravity,  "in  a  sort  of  conniption 
fit.  A  relative  of  mine;  in  fact  a  niece, 
my  only  sister's  child.  Had  n't  seen  each 
other  for  ten  years,  and  it  was  too  much  for 
her." 

The  woman  glanced  at  him  with  a  min- 
gling of  incredulous  belief,  but  delighted 
obedience,  hurriedly  gathered  a  few  arti- 
cles from  her  cabin,  and  followed  him  to  No. 
257.  The  young  girl  was  still  unconscious. 
The  stewardess  applied  a  few  restoratives 
with  the  skill  of  long  experience,  and  the 
young  girl  opened  her  eyes.  They  turned 
vacantly  from  the  stewardess  to  Jack  with 
a  look  of  half  recognition  and  half  fright- 
ened inquiry.  "Yes,"  said  Jack,  address- 
ing the  eyes,  although  ostentatiously  speak- 
ing to  Mrs.  Johnson,  "she'd  only  just 
come  by  steamer  to  'Frisco  and  was  n't  ex- 
pecting to  see  me,  and  we  dropped  right 
into  each  other  here  on  the  boat.  And  I 
haven't  seen  her  since  she  was  so  high. 
Sister  Mary  ought  to  have  warned  me  by 
letter;  but  she  was  always  a  slouch  at  letter 
writing.  There,  that  '11  do,  Mrs.  Johnson. 
She  's  coming  round;  I  reckon  I  can  man- 
age the  rest.  But  you  go  now  and  tell  the 


8         A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlirfs. 

purser  I  want  one  of  those  inside  staterooms 
for  my  niece,  —  my  niece,  you  hear,  —  so 
that  you  can  be  near  her  and  look  after 
her." 

As  the  stewardess  turned  obediently  away 
the  young  girl  attempted  to  rise,  but  Jack 
checked  her.  "No,"  he  said,  almost 
brusquely;  "you  and  I  have  some  talking 
to  do  before  she  gets  back,  and  we  've  no 
time  for  foolin'.  You  heard  what  I  told 
her  just  now!  Well,  it 's  got  to  be  as  I 
said,  you  sdbe.  As  long  as  you  're  on  this 
boat  you  're  my  niece,  and  my  sister  Mary's 
child.  As  I  have  n't  got  any  sister  Mary, 
you  don't  run  any  risk  of  falling  foul  of 
her,  and  you  ain't  taking  any  one's  place. 
That  settles  that.  Now,  do  you  or  do  you 
not  want  to  see  that  man  again  ?  Say  yes, 
and  if  he 's  anywhere  above  ground  I  '11 
yank  him  over  to  you  as  soon  as  we  touch 
shore."  He  had  no  idea  of  interfering  with 
his  colleague's  amours,  but  he  had  deter- 
mined to  make  Stratton  pay  for  the  bother 
their  slovenly  sequence  had  caused  him. 
Yet  he  was  relieved  and  astonished  by 
her  frantic  gesture  of  indignation  and  ab- 
horrence. "  No  ?  "  he  repeated  grimly. 
"Well,  that  settles  that.  Now,  look  here; 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlin's.        9 

quick,  before  she  comes  —  do  you  want  to 
go  back  home  to  your"  friends  ?" 

But  here  occurred  what  he  had  dreaded 
most  and  probably  thought  he  had  escaped. 
She  had  stared  at  him,  at  the  stewardess, 
at  the  walls,  with  abstracted,  vacant,  and 
bewildered,  but  always  undimmed  and  un- 
moistened  eyes.  A  sudden  convulsion 
shook  her  whole  frame,  her  blank  expres- 
sion broke  like  a  shattered  mirror,  she 
threw  her  hands  over  her  eyes  and  fell  for- 
ward with  her  face  to  the  back  of  her  chair 
in  an  outburst  of  tears. 

Alas  for  Jack!  with  the  breaking  up  of 
those  sealed  fountains  came  her  speech  also, 
at  first  disconnected  and  incoherent,  and 
then  despairing  and  passionate.  No!  she 
had  no  longer  friends  or  home!  She  had 
lost  and  disgraced  them!  She  had  dis- 
graced herself!  There  was  no  home  for 
her  but  the  grave.  Why  had  Jack  snatched 
her  from  it?  Then,  bit  by  bit,  she  yielded 
up  her  story,  —  a  story  decidedly  common- 
place to  Jack,  uninteresting,  and  even  irri- 
tating to  his  fastidiousness.  She  was  a 
schoolgirl  (not  even  a  convent  girl,  but  the 
inmate  of  a  Presbyterian  female  academy 
at  Napa.  Jack  shuddered  as  he  remembered 


10      A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlins. 

to  have  once  seen  certain  of  the  pupils  walk- 
ing with  a  teacher),  and  she  lived  with  her 
married  sister.  She  had  seen  Stratton  while 
going  to  and  fro  on  the  San  Francisco  boat ; 
she  had  exchanged  notes  with  him,  had  met 
him  secretly,  and  finally  consented  to  elope 
with  him  to  Sacramento,  only  to  discover 
when  the  boat  had  left  the  wharf  the  real  na- 
ture of  his  intentions.  Jack  listened  with 
infinite  weariness  and  inward  chafing.  He 
had  read  all  this  before  in  cheap  novelettes, 
in  the  police  reports,  in  the  Sunday  papers ; 
he  had  heard  a  street  preacher  declaim 
against  it,  and  warn  young  women  of  the 
serpent-like  wiles  of  tempters  of  the  Strat- 
ton variety.  But  even  now  Jack  failed  to 
recognize  Stratton  as  a  serpent,  or  indeed 
anything  but  a  blundering  cheat  and  clown, 
who  had  left  his  dirty  'prentice  work  on  his 
(Jack's)  hands.  But  the  girl  was  helpless 
and,  it  seemed,  homeless,  all  through  a  cer- 
tain desperation  of  feeling  which,  in  spite 
of  her  tears,  he  could  not  but  respect.  That 
momentary  shadow  of  death  had  exalted 
her.  He  stroked  his  mustache,  pulled  down 
his  white  waistcoat  and  her  cry,  without 
saying  anything.  He  did  not  know  that 
this  most  objectionable  phase  of  her  misery 
was  her  salvation  and  his  own. 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamliris.      11 

But  the  stewardess  would  return  in  a 
moment.  "You  'd  better  tell  me  what  to 
call  you,"  he  said  quietly.  "I  ought  to 
know  my  niece's  first  name." 

The  girl  caught  her  breath,  and,  between 
two  sobs,  said,  "Sophonisba." 

Jack  winced.  It  seemed  only  to  need 
this  last  sentimental  touch  to  complete  the 
idiotic  situation.  "I  '11  call  you  Sophy," 
he  said  hurriedly  and  with  an  effort. 
"And  now  look  here!  You  are  going  in 
that  cabin  with  Mrs.  Johnson  where  she 
can  look  after  you,  but  I  can't.  So  I  '11 
have  to  take  your  word,  for  I  'm  not  going 
to  give  you  away  before  Mrs.  Johnson,  that 
you  won't  try  that  foolishness  —  you  know 
what  I  mean  —  before  I  see  you  again. 
Can  I  trust  you?" 

With  her  head  still  bowed  over  the  chair 
back,  she  murmured  slowly  somewhere  from 
under  her  disheveled  hair :  — 

"Yes." 

"Honest  Injin?  "  adjured  Jack  gravely. 

"Yes." 

The  shuffling  step  of  the  stewardess  was 
heard  slowly  approaching.  "Yes,"  contin- 
ued Jack  abruptly,  lightly  lifting  his  voice 
as  Mrs.  Johnson  opened  the  door,  —  "yes, 


12       A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlin's. 

if  you  'd  only  had  some  of  those  spearmint 
drops  of  your  aunt  Rachel's  that  she  al- 
ways gave  you  when  these  fits  came  on 
you  'd  have  been  all  right  inside  of  five 
minutes.  Aunty  was  no  slouch  of  a  doctor, 
was  she?  Dear  me,  it  only  seems  yester- 
day since  I  saw  her.  You  were  just  play- 
ing round  her  knee  like  a  kitten  on  the 
back  porch.  How  time  does  fly!  But 
here  's  Mrs.  Johnson  coming  to  take  you 
in.  Now  rouse  up,  Sophy,  and  just  hook 
yourself  on  to  Mrs.  Johnson  on  that  side, 
and  we  '11  toddle  along." 

The  young  girl  put  back  her  heavy  hair, 
and  with  her  face  still  averted  submitted 
to  be  helped  to  her  feet  by  the  kindly  stew- 
ardess. Perhaps  something  homely  sympa- 
thetic and  nurse-like  in  the  touch  of  the 
mulatto  gave  her  assurance  and  confidence, 
for  her  head  lapsed  quite  naturally  against 
the  woman's  shoulder,  and  her  face  was 
partly  hidden  as  she  moved  slowly  along 
the  deck.  Jack  accompanied  them  to  the 
saloon  and  the  inner  stateroom  door.  A 
few  passengers  gathered  curiously  near,  as 
much  attracted  by  the  unusual  presence  of 
Jack  Hamlin  in  such  a  procession  as  by  the 
girl  herself.  "You  '11  look  after  her  spe- 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlirfs.      13 

cially,  Mrs.  Johnson,"  said  Jack,  in  un- 
usually deliberate  terms.  "She's  been  a 
good  deal  petted  at  home,  and  my  sister 
perhaps  has  rather  spoilt  her.  She  's  pretty 
much  of  a  child  still,  and  you  '11  have  to 
humor  her.  Sophy,"  he  continued,  with 
ostentatious  playfulness,  directing  his  voice 
to  the  dim  recesses  of  the  stateroom, 
"you  '11  just  think  Mrs.  Johnson 's  your 
old  nurse,  won't  you?  Think  it  's  old 
Katy,  hey?" 

To  his  great  consternation  the  girl 
approached  tremblingly  from  the  inner 
shadow.  The  faintest  and  saddest  of  smiles 
for  a  moment  played  around  the  corners  of 
her  drawn  mouth  and  tear-dimmed  eyes  as 
she  held  out  her  hand  and  said :  — 

"God  bless  you  for  being  so  kind." 

Jack  shuddered  and  glanced  quickly 
round.  But  luckily  no  one  heard  this 
crushing  sentimentalism,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment the  door  closed  upon  her  and  Mrs. 
Johnson. 

It  was  past  midnight,  and  the  moon  was 
riding  high  over  the  narrowing  yellow 
river,  when  Jack  again  stepped  out  on  deck. 
He  had  just  left  the  captain's  cabin,  and  a 
small  social  game  with  the  officers,  which 


14       A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlin'x. 

had  served  to  some  extent  to  vaguely  relieve 
his  irritation  and  their  pockets.  He  had 
presumably  quite  forgotten  the  incident  of 
the  afternoon,  as  he  looked  about  him,  and 
complacently  took  in  the  quiet  beauty  of 
the  night. 

The  low  banks  on  either  side  offered  no 
break  to  the  uninterrupted  level  of  the 
landscape,  through  which  the  river  seemed 
to  wind  only  as  a  race  track  for  the  rushing 
boat.  Every  fibre  of  her  vast  but  fragile 
bulk  quivered  under  the  goad  of  her  power- 
ful engines.  There  was  no  other  movement 
but  hers,  no  other  sound  but  this  mon- 
strous beat  and  panting ;  the  whole  tranquil 
landscape  seemed  to  breathe  and  pulsate 
with  her ;  dwellers  in  the  tules,  miles  away, 
heard  and  felt  her  as  she  passed,  and  it 
seemed  to  Jack,  leaning  over  the  railing, 
as  if  the  whole  river  swept  like  a  sluice 
through  her  paddle-boxes. 

Jack  had  quite  unconsciously  lounged 
before  that  part  of  the  railing  where  the 
young  girl  had  leaned  a  few  hours  ago. 
As  he  looked  down  upon  the  streaming 
yellow  mill-race  below  him,  he  noticed  — 
what  neither  he  nor  the  girl  had  probably 
noticed  before  —  that  a  space  of  the  top  bar 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamliris.       15 

of  the  railing  was  hinged,  and  could  be 
lifted  by  withdrawing  a  small  bolt,  thus 
giving  easy  access  to  the  guards.  He  was 
still  looking  at  it,  whistling  softly,  when 
footsteps  approached. 

"Jack,"  said  a  lazy  voice,  "how's  sister 
Mary?" 

"It 's  a  long  time  since  you  've  seen  her 
only  child,  Jack,  ain't  it?"  said  a  second 
voice;  "and  yet  it  sort  o'  seems  to  me  some- 
how that  I  've  seen  her  before." 

Jack  recognized  the  voice  of  two  of  his 
late  companions  at  the  card -table.  His 
whistling  ceased  ;  so  also  dropped  every 
trace  of  color  and  expression  from  his  hand- 
some face.  But  he  did  not  turn,  and  re- 
mained quietly  gazing  at  the  water. 

"Aunt  Eachel,  too,  must  be  getting  on 
in  years,  Jack,"  continued  the  first  speaker, 
halting  behind  Jack. 

"And  Mrs.  Johnson  does  not  look  so 
much  like  Sophy's  old  nurse  as  she  used 
to,"  remarked  the  second,  following  his  ex- 
ample. Still  Jack  remained  unmoved. 

"You  don't  seem  to  be  interested,  Jack," 
continued  the  first  speaker.  "  What  are  you 
looking  at?" 

Without  turning  his  head   the   gambler 


16       A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlirfs. 

replied,  "Looking  at  the  boat  ;  she  's  boom- 
ing along,  just  chawing  up  and  spitting  out 
the  river,  ain't  she?  Look  at  that  sweep 
of  water  going  under  her  paddle-wheels," 
he  continued,  unbolting  the  rail  and  lift- 
ing it  to  allow  the  two  men  to  peer  curiously 
over  the  guards  as  he  pointed  to  the  mur- 
derous incline  beneath  them  ;  "  a  man 
wouldn't  stand  much  show  who  got  dropped 
into  it.  How  these  paddles  would  just 
snatch  him  bald-headed,  pick  him  up  and 
slosh  him  round  and  round,  and  then  sling 
him  out  down  there  in  such  a  shape  that  his 
own  father  wouldn't  know  him." 

"Yes,"  said  the  first  speaker,  with  an 
ostentatious  little  laugh,  "but  all  that  ain't 
telling  us  how  sister  Mary  is." 

"No,"  said  the  gambler  slipping  into  the 
opening  with  a  white  and  rigid  face  in 
which  nothing  seemed  living  but  the  eyes, 
—  "no,  but  it's  telling  you  how  two  d — d 
fools  who  did  n't  know  when  to  shut  their 
mouths  might  get  them  shut  once  and  for- 
ever. It 's  telling  you  what  might  hap- 
pen to  two  men  who  tried  to  'play '  a  man 
who  didn't  care  to  be  'played,'  —  a  man 
who  did  n't  care  much  what  he  did,  when  he 
did  it,  or  how  he  did  it,  but  would  do  what 


A  Protegee  of  Jack,  Hamlin's.      17 

he  'd  set  out  to  do  —  even  if  in  doing  it  he 
went  to  hell  with  the  men  he  sent  there." 

He  had  stepped  out  on  the  guards,  beside 
the  two  men,  closing  the  rail  behind  him. 
He  had  placed  his  hands  on  their  shoul- 
ders; they  had  both  gripped  his  arms;  yet, 
viewed  from  the  deck  above,  they  seemed  at 
that  moment  an  amicable,  even  fraternal 
group,  albeit  the  faces  of  the  three  were 
dead  white  in  the  moonlight. 

"I  don't  think  I 'm  so  very  much  inter- 
ested in  sister  Mary,"  said  the  first  speaker 
quietly,  after  a  pause. 

"And  I  don't  seem  to  think  so  much  of 
aunt  Eachel  as  I  did,"  said  his  companion. 

"I  thought  you  wouldn't,"  said  Jack, 
coolly  reopening  the  rail  and  stepping  back 
again.  "It  all  depends  upon  the  way  you 
look  at  those  things.  Good-night." 

"Good-night." 

The  three  men  paused,  shook  each  other's 
hands  silently,  and  separated,  Jack  saunter- 
ing slowly  back  to  his  stateroom. 

n. 

The  educational  establishment  of  Mrs. 
Mix  and  Madame  Bance,  situated  in  the 


18       A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlins. 

best  quarter  of  Sacramento  and  patronized 
by  the  highest  state  officials  and  members 
of  the  clergy,  was  a  pretty  if  not  an  im- 
posing edifice.  Although  surrounded  by  a 
high  white  picket  fence  and  entered  through 
a  heavily  boarded  gate,  its  balconies  fes- 
tooned with  jasmine  and  roses,  and  its  spot- 
lessly draped  windows  as  often  graced  with 
fresh,  flower-like  faces,  were  still  plainly 
and  provokingly  visible  above  the  ostenta- 
tious spikes  of  the  pickets.  Nevertheless, 
Mr.  Jack  Hamlin,  who  had  six  months  be- 
fore placed  his  niece,  Miss  Sophonisba 
Brown,  under  its  protecting  care,  felt  a 
degree  of  uneasiness,  even  bordering  on 
timidity,  which  was  new  to  that  usually  self- 
confident  man.  Remembering  how  his  first 
appearance  had  fluttered  this  dovecote  and 
awakened  a  severe  suspicion  in  the  minds 
of  the  two  principals,  he  had  discarded  his 
usual  fashionable  attire  and  elegantly  fitting 
garments  for  a  rough,  homespun  suit,  sup- 
posed to  represent  a  homely  agriculturist, 
but  which  had  the  effect  of  transforming 
him  into  an  adorable  Strephon,  infinitely 
more  dangerous  in  his  rustic  shepherd-like 
simplicity.  He  had  also  shaved  off  his 
silken  mustache  for  the  same  prudential 


A  Protegee,  of  Jack  Hamlin^s.       19 

reasons,  but  had  only  succeeded  in  uncover- 
ing the  delicate  lines  of  his  handsome 
mouth,  and  so  absurdly  reducing  his  ap- 
parent years  that  his  avuncular  pretensions 
seemed  more  preposterous  than  ever;  and 
when  he  had  rung  the  bell  and  was  admitted 
by  a  severe  Hibernian  porteress,  his  mo- 
mentary hesitation  and  half  humorous  diffi- 
dence had  such  an  unexpected  effect  upon 
her,  that  it  seemed  doubtful  if  he  would 
be  allowed  to  pass  beyond  the  vestibule. 
"Shure,  miss,"  she  said  in  a  whisper  to  an 
under  teacher,  "there's  wan  at  the  dhure 
who  calls  himself,  'Mister '  Hamlin,  but  av 
it  is  not  a  young  lady  maskeradin'  in  her 
brother's  clothes  Oim  very  much  mistaken; 
and  av  it  's  a  boy,  one  of  the  pupil's  bro- 
thers, shure  ye  might  put  a  dhress  on  him 
when  you  take  the  others  out  for  a  walk, 
and  he  'd  pass  for  the  beauty  of  the  whole 
school." 

Meantime,  the  unconscious  subject  of 
this  criticism  was  pacing  somewhat  uneasily 
up  and  down  the  formal  reception  room  into 
which  he  had  been  finally  ushered.  Its 
farther  end  was  filled  by  an  enormous  par- 
lor organ,  a  number  of  music  books,  and  a 
cheerfully  variegated  globe.  A  large  pres- 


20       A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlin's. 

entation  Bible,  an  equally  massive  illus- 
trated volume  on  the  Holy  Land,  a  few 
landscapes  in  cold,  bluish  milk  and  water 
colors,  and  rigid  heads  in  crayons  —  the 
work  of  pupils  —  were  presumably  orna- 
mental. An  imposing  mahogany  sofa  and 
what  seemed  to  be  a  disproportionate  ex- 
cess of  chairs  somewhat  coldly  furnished 
the  room.  Jack  had  reluctantly  made  up 
his  mind  that,  if  Sophy  was  accompanied 
by  any  one,  he  would  be  obliged  to  kiss  her 
to  keep  up  his  assumed  relationship.  As 
she  entered  the  room  with  Miss  Mix,  Jack 
advanced  and  soberly  saluted  her  on  the 
cheek.  But  so  positive  and  apparent  was 
the  gallantry  of  his  presence,  and  perhaps 
so  suggestive  of  some  pastoral  flirtation, 
that  Miss  Mix,  to  Jack's  surprise,  winced 
perceptibly  and  became  stony.  But  he  was 
still  more  surprised  that  the  young  lady 
herself  shrank  half  uneasily  from  his  lips, 
and  uttered  a  slight  exclamation.  It  was  a 
new  experience  to  Mr.  Hamlin. 

But  this  somewhat  mollified  Miss  Mix, 
and  she  slightly  relaxed  her  austerity.  She 
was  glad  to  be  able  to  give  the  best  accounts 
of  Miss  Brown,  not  only  as  regarded  her 
studies,  but  as  to  her  conduct  and  deport- 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlin  s.      21 

ment.  Really,  with  the  present  freedom  of 
manners  and  laxity  of  home  discipline  in 
California,  it  was  gratifying  to  meet  a 
young  lady  who  seemed  to  value  the  impor- 
tance of  a  proper  decorum  and  behavior, 
especially  towards  the  opposite  sex.  Mr. 
Hamlin,  although  her  guardian,  was  per- 
haps too  young  to  understand  and  appreci- 
ate this.  To  this  experience  she  must  also 
attribute  the  indiscretion  of  his  calling  dur- 
ing school  hours  and  without  preliminary 
warning.  She  trusted,  however,  that  this 
informality  could  be  overlooked  after  con- 
sultation with  Madame  Bance,  but  in  the 
mean  time,  perhaps  for  half  an  hour,  she 
must  withdraw  Miss  Brown  and  return  with 
her  to  the  class.  Mr.  Hamlin  could  wait 
in  this  public  room,  reserved  especially  for 
visitors,  until  they  returned.  Or,  if  he 
cared  to  accompany  one  of  the  teachers  in  a 
formal  inspection  of  the  school,  she  added, 
doubtfully,  with  a  glance  at  Jack's  distract- 
ing attractions,  she  would  submit  this  also 
to  Madame  Bance. 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,"  returned  Jack 
hurriedly,  as  a  depressing  vision  of  the  fifty 
or  sixty  scholars  rose  before  his  eyes,  "but 
I  'd  rather  not.  I  mean,  you  know,  I  'd 


22       A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamliris. 

just  as  lief  stay  here  alone.  I  would  n't 
have  called  anyway,  don't  you  see,  only  I 
had  a  day  off,  —  and  —  and  —  I  wanted  to 
talk  with  my  niece  on  family  matters." 
He  did  not  say  that  he  had  received  a  some- 
what distressful  letter  from  her  asking  him 
to  come ;  a  new  instinct  made  him  cautious. 
Considerably  relieved  by  Jack's  unex- 
pected abstention,  which  seemed  to  spare 
her  pupils  the  distraction  of  his  graces, 
Miss  Mix  smiled  more  amicably  and  retired 
with  her  charge-.  In  the  single  glance  he 
had  exchanged  with  Sophy  he  saw  that, 
although  resigned  and  apparently  self-con- 
trolled, she  still  appeared  thoughtful  and 
melancholy.  She  had  improved  in  appear- 
ance and  seemed  more  refined  and  less  rus- 
tic in  her  school  dress,  but  he  was  conscious 
of  the  same  distinct  separation  of  her  per- 
sonality (which  was  uninteresting  to  him) 
from  the  sentiment  that  had  impelled  him 
to  visit  her.  She  was  possibly  still  han- 
kering after  that  fellow  Stratton,  in  spite  of 
her  protestations  to  the  contrary;  perhaps 
she  wanted  to  go  back  to  her  sister,  al- 
though she  had  declared  she  would  die  first, 
and  had  always  refused  to  disclose  her  real 
name  or  give  any  clue  by  which  he  could 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlins.      23 

have  traced  her  relations.  She  would  cry, 
of  course ;  he  almost  hoped  that  she  would 
not  return  alone ;  he  half  regretted  he  had 
come.  She  still  held  him  only  by  a  single 
quality  of  her  nature,  —  the  desperation  she 
had  shown  in  the  boat;  that  was  something 
he  understood  and  respected. 

He  walked  discontentedly  to  the  window 
and  looked  out ;  he  walked  discontentedly  to 
the  end  of  the  room  and  stopped  before  the 
organ.  It  was  a  fine  instrument;  he  could 
see  that  with  an  admiring  and  experienced 
eye.  He  was  alone  in  the  room;  in  fact, 
quite  alone  in  that  part  of  the  house  which 
was  separated  from  the  class-rooms.  He 
would  disturb  no  one  by  trying  it.  And  if 
he  did,  what  then?  He  smiled  a  little  reck- 
lessly, slowly  pulled  off  his  gloves,  and  sat 
down  before  it. 

He  played  cautiously  at  first,  with  the 
soft  pedal  down.  The  instrument  had  never 
known  a  strong  masculine  hand  before, 
having  been  fumbled  and  friveled  over  by 
softly  incompetent,  feminine  fingers.  But 
presently  it  began  to  thrill  under  the  pas- 
sionate hand  of  its  lover,  and  carried  away 
by  his  one  innocent  weakness,  Jack  was 
launched  upon  a  sea  of  musical  remiiiis- 


24      A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlirfs. 

cences.  Scraps  of  church  music,  Puritan 
psalms  of  his  boyhood ;  dying  strains  from 
sad,  forgotten  operas,  fragments  of  oratorios 
and  symphonies,  but  chiefly  phrases  from 
old  masses  heard  at  the  missions  of  San 
Pedro  and  Santa  Isabel,  swelled  up  from 
his  loving  and  masterful  fingers.  He  had 
finished  an  Agnus  Dei;  the  formal  room 
was  pulsating  with  divine  aspirations;  the 
rascal's  hands  were  resting  listlessly  on  the 
keys,  his  brown  lashes  lifted,  in  an  effort  of 
memory,  tenderly  towards  the  ceiling. 

Suddenly,  a  subdued  murmur  of  applause 
and  a  slight  rustle  behind  him  recalled  him 
to  himself  again.  He  wheeled  his  chair 
quickly  round.  The  two  principals  of  the 
school  and  half  a  dozen  teachers  were  stand- 
ing gravely  behind  him,  and  at  the  open 
door  a  dozen  curled  and  frizzled  youthful 
heads  peered  in  eagerly,  but  half  restrained 
by  their  teachers.  The  relaxed  features  and 
apologetic  attitude  of  Madame  Bance  and 
Miss  Mix  showed  that  Mr.  Hamlin  had  un- 
consciously achieved  a  triumph. 

He  might  not  have  been  as  pleased  to 
know  that  his  extraordinary  performance 
had  solved  a  difficulty,  effaced  his  other 
graces,  and  enabled  them  to  place  him  on 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlirfs.      25 

the  moral  pedestal  of  a  mere  musician,  to 
whom  these  eccentricities  were  allowable 
and  privileged.  He  shared  the  admiration 
extended  by  the  young  ladies  to  their  music 
teacher,  which  was  always  understood  to  be 
a  sexless  enthusiasm  and  a  contagious  juve- 
nile disorder.  It  was  also  a  fine  advertise- 
ment for  the  organ.  Madame  Bance  smiled 
blandly,  improved  the  occasion  by  thanking 
Mr.  Hamlin  for  having  given  the  scholars  a 
gratuitous  lesson  on  the  capabilities  of  the 
instrument,  and  was  glad  to  be  able  to  give 
Miss  Brown  a  half-holiday  to  spend  with 
her  accomplished  relative.  Miss  Brown  was 
even  now  upstairs,  putting  on  her  hat  and 
mantle.  Jack  was  relieved.  Sophy  would 
not  attempt  to  cry  on  the  street. 

Nevertheless,  when  they  reached  it  and 
the  gate  closed  behind  them,  he  again  be- 
came uneasy.  The  girl's  clouded  face  and 
melancholy  manner  were  not  promising.  It 
also  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  meet 
some  one  who  knew  him  and  thus  compro- 
mise her.  This  was  to  be  avoided  at  all 
hazards.  He  began  with  forced  gayety:  — 
"Well,  now,  where  shall  we  go?" 
She  slightly  raised  her  tear-dimmed  eyes. 
"Where  you  please  —  I  don't  care." 


26       A  Protegee  of ,  Jack  flamlin's. 

"There  isn't  any  show  going  on  here,  is 
there?"  He  had  a  vague  idea  of  a  circus 
or  menagerie  —  himself  in  the  shadow  of 
the  box  behind  her. 

"I  don't  know  of  any." 

"Or  any  restaurant  —  or  cake  shop?  " 

"There  's  a  place  where  the  girls  go  to 
get  candy  on  Main  Street.  Some  of  them 
are  there  now." 

Jack  shuddered;  this  was  not  to  be 
thought  of.  "But  where  do  you  walk?  " 

"Up  and  down  Main  Street." 

"Where  everybody  can  see  you?"  said 
Jack,  scandalized. 

The  girl  nodded. 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. Then  a  bright  idea  struck  Mr. 
Hamlin.  He  suddenly  remembered  that  in 
one  of  his  many  fits  of  impulsive  generosity 
and  largesse  he  had  given  to  an  old  negro 
retainer  —  whose  wife  had  nursed  him 
through  a  dangerous  illness  —  a  house  and 
lot  on  the  river  bank.  He  had  been  told 
that  they  had  opened  a  small  laundry  or 
wash-house.  It  occurred  to  him  that  a 
stroll  there  and  a  call  upon  "Uncle  Han- 
nibal and  Aunt  Chloe  "  combined  the  pro- 
priety and  respectability  due  to  the  young 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlin's.      27 

person  he  was  with,  and  the  requisite  se- 
crecy and  absence  of  publicity  due  to  him- 
self. He  at  once  suggested  it. 

"You  see  she  was  a  mighty  good  woman 
and  you  ought  to  know  her,  for  she  was  my 
old  nurse  " 

The  girl  glanced  at  him  with  a  sudden 
impatience. 

"  Honest  Injin,"  said  Jack  solemnly  ; 
"she  did  nurse  me  through  my  last  cough. 
I  ain't  playing  old  family  gags  on  you 
now." 

"Oh,  dear,"  burst  out  the  girl  impul- 
sively, "I  do  wish  you  would  n't  ever  play 
them  again.  I  wish  you  would  n't  pre- 
tend to  be  my  uncle;  I  wish  you  would  n't 
make  me  pass  for  your  niece.  It  is  n't 
right.  It 's  all  wrong.  Oh,  don't  you  know 
it  's  all  wrong,  and  can't  come  right  any 
way?  It's  just  killing  me.  I  can't  stand 
it.  I  'd  rather  you  'd  say  what  I  am  and 
how  I  came  to  you  and  how  you  pitied  me." 

They  had  luckily  entered  a  narrow  side 
street,  and  the  sobs  which  shook  the  young 
girl's  frame  were  unnoticed.  For  a  few 
moments  Jack  felt  a  horrible  conviction 
stealing  over  him,  that  in  his  present  atti- 
tude towards  her  he  was  not  unlike  that 


28       A  Protegee  of  Jack  ffamlin's. 

hound  Stratton,  and  that,  however  innocent 
his  own  intent,  there  was  a  sickening  resem- 
blance to  the  situation  on  the  boat  in  the 
base  advantage  he  had  taken  of  her  friend- 
lessness.  He  had  never  told  her  that  he 
was  a  gambler  like  Stratton,  and  that  his 
peculiarly  infelix  reputation  among  women 
made  it  impossible  for  him  to  assist  her, 
except  by  a  stealth  or  the  deception  he  had 
practiced,  without  compromising  her.  He 
who  had  for  years  faced  the  sneers  and 
half  -  frightened  opposition  of  the  world 
dared  not  tell  the  truth  to  this  girl,  from 
whom  he  expected  nothing  and  who  did  not 
interest  him.  He  felt  he  was  almost  slink- 
ing at  her  side.  At  last  he  said  desper- 
ately :  — 

"But  I  snatched  them  bald-headed  at  the 
organ,  Sophy,  didn't  I?" 

"Oh  yes,"  said  the  girl,  "you  played 
beautifully  and  grandly.  It  was  so  good  of 
you,  too.  For  I  think,  somehow,  Madame 
Bance  had  been  a  little  suspicious  of  you, 
but  that  settled  it.  Everybody  thought  it 
was  fine,  and  some  thought  it  was  your 
profession.  Perhaps,"  she  added  timidly, 
"it  is?" 

"I   play  a   good    deal,    I   reckon,"   said 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlins.      29 

Jack,  with  a  grim  humor  which  did  not, 
however,  amuse  him. 

"I  wish  /could,  and  make  money  by  it," 
said  the  girl  eagerly.  Jack  winced,  but 
she  did  not  notice  it  as  she  went  on  hur- 
riedly: "That's  what  I  wanted  to  talk  to 
you  about.  I  want  to  leave  the  school  and 
make  my  own  living.  Anywhere  where 
people  won't  know  me  and  where  I  can  be 
alone  and  work.  I  shall  die  here  among 
these  girls  —  with  all  their  talk  of  their 
friends  and  their  —  sisters,  —  and  their 
questions  about  you." 

"Tell  'em  to  dry  up,"  said  Jack  indig- 
nantly. "Take  'em  to  the  cake  shop  and 
load  'em  up  with  candy  and  ice  cream. 
That  '11  stop  their  mouths.  You  've  got 
money,  you  got  my  last  remittance,  did  n't 
you  ? "  he  repeated  quickly.  "  If  you 
did  n't,  here  's" —  his  hand  was  already  in 
his  pocket  when  she  stopped  him  with  a 
despairing  gesture. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  got  it  all.  I  have  n't 
touched  it.  I  don't  want  it.  For  I  can't 
live  on  you.  Don't  you  understand,  —  I 
want  to  work.  Listen,  —  I  can  draw  and 
paint.  Madame  Bance  says  I  do  it  well; 
my  drawing-master  says  I  might  in  time 


30      A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlivis. 

take  portraits  and  get  paid  for  it.  And 
even  now  I  can  retouch  photographs  and 
make  colored  miniatures  from  them.  And," 
she  stopped  and  glanced  at  Jack  half -tim- 
idly, "I  've  —  done  some  already." 

A  glow  of  surprised  relief  suffused  the 
gambler.  Not  so  much  at  this  astonishing 
revelation  as  at  the  change  it  seemed  to 
effect  in  her.  Her  pale  blue  eyes,  made 
paler  by  tears,  cleared  and  brightened  un- 
der their  swollen  lids  like  wiped  steel;  the 
lines  of  her  depressed  mouth  straightened 
and  became  firm.  Her  voice  had  lost  its 
hopeless  monotone. 

"There's  a  shop  in  the  next  street, — a 
photographer's,  —  where  they  have  one  of 
mine  in  their  windows,"  she  went  on,  reas- 
sured by  Jack's  unaffected  interest.  "It 's 
only  round  the  corner,  if  you  care  to  see." 

Jack  assented;  a  few  paces  farther 
brought  them  to  the  corner  of  a  narrow 
street,  where  they  presently  turned  into  a 
broader  thoroughfare  and  stopped  before 
the  window  of  a  photographer.  Sophy 
pointed  to  an  oval  frame,  containing  a 
portrait  painted  011  porcelain.  Mr.  Hamlin 
was  startled.  Inexperienced  as  he  was,  a 
certain  artistic  inclination  told  him  it  was 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlirfs.      31 

good,  although  it  is  to  be  feared  he  would 
have  been  astonished  even  if  it  had  been 
worse.  The  mere  fact  that  this  headstrong 
country  girl,  who  had  run  away  with  a  cur 
like  Stratton,  should  be  able  to  do  anything 
else  took  him  by  surprise. 

"I  got  ten  dollars  for  that,"  she  said  hesi- 
tatingly, "and  I  could  have  got  more  for  a 
larger  one,  but  I  had  to  do  that  in  my  room, 
during  recreation  hours.  If  I  had  more 
time  and  a  place  where  I  could  work"  — 
she  stopped  timidly  and  looked  tentatively 
at  Jack.  But  he  was  already  indulging  in 
a  characteristically  reckless  idea  of  coming 
back  after  he  had  left  Sophy,  buying  the 
miniature  at  an  extravagant  price,  and  or- 
dering half  a  dozen  more  at  extraordinary 
figures.  Here,  however,  two  passers-by, 
stopping  ostensibly  to  look  in  the  window, 
but  really  attracted  by  the  picturesque  spec- 
tacle of  the  handsome  young  rustic  and  his 
schoolgirl  companion,  gave  Jack  such  a 
fright  that  he  hurried  Sophy  away  again 
into  the  side  street.  "There's  nothing 
mean  about  that  picture  business,"  he  said 
cheerfully;  "it  looks  like  a  square  kind  of 
game,"  and  relapsed  into  thoughtful  silence. 

At   which,    Sophy,    the   ice  of   restraint 


32       A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlirfs. 

broken,  again  burst  into  passionate  appeal. 
If  she  could  only  go  away  somewhere  — 
where  she  saw  no  one  but  the  people  who 
would  buy  her  work,  who  knew  nothing  of 
her  past  nor  cared  to  know  who  were  her 
relations !  She  would  work  hard ;  she  knew 
she  could  support  herself  in  time.  She 
would  keep  the  name  he  had  given  her,  —  it 
was  not  distinctive  enough  to  challenge  any 
inquiry,  —  but  nothing  more.  She  need  not 
assume  to  be  his  niece ;  he  would  always  be 
her  kind  friend,  to  whom  she  owed  every- 
thing, even  her  miserable  life.  She  trusted 
still  to  his  honor  never  to  seek  to  know  her 
real  name,  nor  ever  to  speak  to  her  of  that 
man  if  he  ever  met  him.  It  would  do  no 
good  to  her  or  to  them ;  it  might  drive  her, 
for  she  was  not  yet  quite  sure  of  herself,  to 
do  that  which  she  had  promised  him  never 
to  do  again. 

There  was  no  threat,  impatience,  or  act- 
ing in  her  voice,  but  he  recognized  the  same 
dull  desperation  he  had  once  heard  in  it, 
and  her  eyes,  which  a  moment  before  were 
quick  and  mobile,  had  become  fixed  and  set. 
He  had  no  idea  of  trying  to  penetrate  the 
foolish  secret  of  her  name  and  relations;  he 
had  never  had  the  slightest  curiosity,  but  it 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlin1  s.      33 

struck  him  now  that  Stratton  might  at  any 
time  force  it  upon  him.  The  only  way  that 
he  could  prevent  it  was  to  let  it  be  known 
that,  for  unexpressed  reasons,  he  would 
shoot  Stratton  "on  sight."  This  would 
naturally  restrict  any  verbal  communication 
between  them.  Jack's  ideas  of  morality 
were  vague,  but  his  convictions  on  points  of 
honor  were  singularly  direct  and  positive. 

in. 

Meantime  Hamlin  and  Sophy  were  pass- 
ing the  outskirts  of  the  town ;  the  open  lots 
and  cleared  spaces  were  giving  way  to 
grassy  stretches,  willow  copses,  and  groups 
of  cottonwood  and  sycamore;  and  beyond 
the  level  of  yellowing  tules  appeared  the 
fringed  and  raised  banks  of  the  river. 
Half  tropical  looking  cottages  with  deep 
verandas  —  the  homes  of  early  Southern 
pioneers  —  took  the  place  of  incomplete 
blocks  of  modern  houses,  monotonously 
alike.  In  these  sylvan  surroundings  Mr. 
Hamlin 's  picturesque  rusticity  looked  less 
incongruous  and  more  Arcadian ;  the  young 
girl  had  lost  some  of  her  restraint  with  her 
confidences,  and  lounging  together  side  by 


34       A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlins. 

side,  without  the  least  consciousness  of  any 
sentiment  in  their  words  or  actions,  they 
nevertheless  contrived  to  impress  the  spec- 
tator with  the  idea  that  they  were  a  charm- 
ing pair  of  pastoral  lovers.  So  strong  was 
this  impression  that,  as  they  approached 
Aunt  Chloe's  laundry,  a  pretty  rose-covered 
cottage  with  an  enormous  whitewashed 
barn -like  extension  in  the  rear,  the  black 
proprietress  herself,  standing  at  the  door, 
called  her  husband  to  come  and  look  at 
them,  and  flashed  her  white  teeth  in  such 
unqualified  commendation  and  patronage 
that  Mr.  Hamlin,  withdrawing  himself 
from  Sophy's  side,  instantly  charged  down 
upon  them. 

"If  you  don't  slide  the  lid  back  over  that 
grinning  box  of  dominoes  of  yours  and  take 
it  inside,  I  '11  just  carry  Hannibal  off  with 
me,"  he  said  in  a  quick  whisper,  with  a 
half-wicked,  half-mischievous  glitter  in  his 
brown  eyes.  "That  young  lady  's  —  a  lady 
—  do  you  understand?  No  riffraff  friend 
of  mine,  but  a  regular  nun  —  a  saint  —  do 
you  hear?  So  you  just  stand  back  and  let 
her  take  a  good  look  round,  and  rest  her- 
self, until  she  wants  you."  "Two  black 
idiots,  Miss  Brown,"  he  continued  cheer- 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlirfs.      35 

fully  in  a  higher  voice  of  explanation,  as 
Sophy  approached,  "who  think  because  one 
of  'em  used  to  shave  me  and  the  other  saved 
my  life  they  've  got  a  right  to  stand  at  their 
humble  cottage  door  and  frighten  horses !  " 

So  great  was  Mr.  Hamlin's  ascendency 
over  his  former  servants  that  even  this  in- 
genious pleasantry  was  received  with  every 
sign  of  affection  and  appreciation  of  the 
humorist,  and  of  the  profound  respect  for 
his  companion.  Aunt  Chloe  showed  them 
effusively  into  her  parlor,  a  small  but  scru- 
pulously neat  and  sweet-smelling  apartment, 
inordinately  furnished  with  a  huge  mahog- 
any centre-table  and  chairs,  and  the  most 
fragile  and  meretricious  china  and  glass 
ornaments  on  the  mantel.  But  the  three 
jasmine-edged  lattice  windows  opened  upon 
a  homely  garden  of  old-fashioned  herbs  and 
flowers,  and  their  fragrance  filled  the  room. 
The  cleanest  and  starchiest  of  curtains,  the 
most  dazzling  and  whitest  of  tidies  and 
chair-covers,  bespoke  the  adjacent  laundry; 
indeed,  the  whole  cottage  seemed  to  exhale 
the  odors  of  lavender  soap  and  freshly 
ironed  linen.  Yet  the  cottage  was  large 
for  the  couple  and  their  assistants.  "Dar 
was  two  front  rooms  on  de  next  flo'  dat 


36       A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlirfs. 

dey  never  used,"  explained  Aunt  Chloe; 
"friends  allowed  dat  dey  could  let  'em  to 
white  folks,  but  dey  had  always  been  done 
kep'  for  Marse  Hamlin,  ef  he  ever  wanted 
to  be  wid  his  old  niggers  again."  Jack 
looked  up  quickly  with  a  brightened  face, 
made  a  sign  to  Hannibal,  and  the  two  left 
the  room  together. 

When  he  came  through  the  passage  a  few 
moments  later,  there  was  a  sound  of  laugh- 
ter in  the  parlor.  He  recognized  the  full, 
round  lazy  chuckle  of  Aunt  Chloe,  but 
there  was  a  higher  girlish  ripple  that  he 
did  not  know.  He  had  never  heard  Sophy 
laugh  before.  Nor,  when  he  entered,  had 
he  ever  seen  her  so  animated.  She  was 
helping  Chloe  set  the  table,  to  that  lady's 
intense  delight  at  "Missy's"  girlish  house- 
wifery. She  was  picking  the  berries  fresh 
from  the  garden,  buttering  the  Sally  Lunn, 
making  the  tea,  and  arranging  the  details 
of  the  repast  with  apparently  no  trace  of 
her  former  discontent  and  unhappiness  in 
either  face  or  manner.  He  dropped  quietly 
into  a  chair  by  the  window,  and,  with  the 
homely  scents  of  the  garden  mixing  with 
the  honest  odors  of  Aunt  Chloe 's  cookery, 
watched  her  with  an  amusement  that  was  as 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Ufamlin's.      37 

pleasant  and  grateful  as  it  was  strange  and 
unprecedented. 

"Now  den,"  said  Aunt  Chloe  to  her  hus- 
band, as  she  put  the  finishing  touch  to  the 
repast  in  a  plate  of  doughnuts  as  exquisitely 
brown  and  shining  as  Jack's  eyes  were  at 
that  moment,  "Hannibal,  you  just  come 
away,  and  let  dem  two  white  quality  chil- 
lens  have  dey  tea.  Dey  's  done  starved, 
shuah."  And  with  an  approving  nod  to 
Jack,  she  bundled  her  husband  from  the 
room. 

The  door  closed ;  the  young  girl  began  to 
pour  out  the  tea,  but  Jack  remained  in  his 
seat  by  the  window.  It  was  a  singular  sen- 
sation which  he  did  not  care  to  disturb.  It 
was  no  new  thing  for  Mr.  Hamlin  to  find 
himself  at  a  tete-a-tete  repast  with  the  ad- 
miring and  complaisant  fair;  there  was  a 
cabinet  particulier  iir  a  certain  San  Fran- 
cisco restaurant  which  had  listened  to  their 
various  vanities  and  professions  of  undying 
faith ;  he  might  have  recalled  certain  festal 
rendezvous  with  a  widow  whose  piety  and 
impeccable  reputation  made  it  a  moral  duty 
for  her  to  come  to  him  only  in  disguise;  it 
was  but  a  few  days  before  that  he  had  been 
let  privately  into  the  palatial  mansion  of  a 


38       A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlirfs. 

high  official  for  a  midnight  supper  with  a 
foolish  wife.  It  was  not  strange,  therefore, 
that  he  should  be  alone  here,  secretly  with 
a  member  of  that  indirect,  loving  sex.  But 
that  he  should  be  sitting  there  in  a  cheap 
negro  laundry  with  absolutely  no  sentiment 
of  any  kind  towards  the  heavy  -  haired, 
freckle  -  faced  country  schoolgirl  opposite 
him,  from  whom  he  sought  and  expected 
nothing,  and  enjoying  it  without  scorn  of 
himself  or  his  companion,  to  use  his  own 
expression,  "got  him."  Presently  he  rose 
and  sauntered  to  the  table  with  shining 


"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  Aunt 
Chloe's  shebang?  "  he  asked  smilingly. 

"Oh,  it's  so  sweet  and  clean  and  home- 
like," said  the  girl  quickly.  At  any  other 
time  he  would  have  winced  at  the  last  ad- 
jective. It  struck  him  now  as  exactly  the 
word. 

"Would  you  like  to  live  here,  if  you 
could?" 

Her  face  brightened.  She  put  the  tea- 
pot down  and  gazed  fixedly  at  Jack. 

"Because  you  can.  Look  here.  I  spoke 
to  Hannibal  about  it.  You  can  have  the 
two  front  rooms  if  you  want  to.  One  of 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlirts.      39 

'em  is  big  enough  and  light  enough  for  a 
studio  to  do  your  work  in.  You  tell  that 
nigger  what  you  want  to  put  in  'em,  and 
he  's  got  my  orders  to  do  it.  I  told  him 
about  your  painting;  said  you  were  the 
daughter  of  an  old  friend,  you  know. 
Hold  on,  Sophy;  d — n  it  all,  I  've  got  to 
do  a  little  gilt-edged  lying;  but  I  let  you 
out  of  the  niece  business  this  time.  Yes, 
from  this  moment  I  'm  no  longer  your 
uncle.  I  renounce  the  relationship.  It  's 
hard,"  continued  the  rascal,  "after  all  these 
years  and  considering  sister  Mary's  feel- 
ings; but,  as  you  seem  to  wish  it,  it  must 
be  done." 

Sophy's  steel-blue  eyes  softened.  She 
slid  her  long  brown  hand  across  the  table 
and  grasped  Jack's.  He  returned  the  pres- 
sure quickly  and  fraternally,  even  to  that 
half-shamed,  half-hurried  evasion  of  emo- 
tion peculiar  to  all  brothers.  This  was 
also  a  new  sensation;  but  he  liked  it. 

"You  are  too  —  too  good,  Mr.  Hamlin," 
she  said  quietly. 

"Yes,"  said  Jack  cheerfully,  "that  's 
what 's  the  matter  with  me.  It  isn't  natu- 
ral, and  if  I  keep  it  up  too  long  it  brings 
on  my  cough." 


40       A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlin's. 

Nevertheless,  they  were  happy  in  a  boy 
and  girl  "fashion,  eating  heartily,  and,  I 
fear,  not  always  decorously;  scrambling 
somewhat  for  the  strawberries,  and  smack- 
ing their  lips  over  the  Sally  Lunn.  Mean- 
time, it  was  arranged  that  Mr.  Hamlin 
should  inform  Miss  Mix  that  Sophy  would 
leave  school  at  the  end  of  the  term,  only  a 
few  days  hence,  and  then  transfer  herself 
to  lodgings  with  some  old  family  servants, 
where  she  could  more  easily  pursue  her 
studies  in  her  own  profession.  She  need 
not  make  her  place  of  abode  a  secret, 
neither  need  she  court  publicity.  She 
would  write  to  Jack  regularly,  informing 
him  of  her  progress,  and  he  would  visit  her 
whenever  he  could.  Jack  assented  gravely 
to  the  further  proposition  that  he  was  to 
keep  a  strict  account  of  all  the  moneys  he 
advanced  her,  and  that  she  was  to  repay 
him  out  of  the  proceeds  of  her  first  pictures. 
He  had  promised  also,  with  a  slight  mental 
reservation,  not  to  buy  them  all  himself,  but 
to  trust  to  her  success  with  the  public. 
They  were  never  to  talk  of  what  had  hap- 
pened before;  she  was  to  begin  life  anew. 
Of  such  were  their  confidences,  spoken  often 
together  at  the  same  moment,  and  with 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlirfs.      41 

their  mouths  full.  Only  one  thing  troubled 
Jack;  he  had  not  yet  told  her  frankly  who 
he  was  and  what  was  his  reputation;  he 
had  hitherto  carelessly  supposed  she  would 
learn  it,  and  in  truth  had  cared  little  if  she 
did;  but  it  was  evident  from  her  conversa- 
tion that  day  that  by  some  miracle  she  was 
still  in  ignorance.  Unable  to  tell  her  him- 
self, he  had  charged  Hannibal  to  break  it 
to  her  casually  after  he  was  gone.  "You 
can  let  me  down  easy  if  you  like,  but  you  'd 
better  make  a  square  deal  of  it  while  you  're 
about  it.  And,"  Jack  had  added  cheer- 
fully, "if  she  thinks  after  that  she  'd  better 
drop  me  entirely,  you  just  say  that  if  she 
wishes  to  stay,  you  '11  see  that  I  don't  ever 
come  here  again.  And  you  keep  your  word 
about  it  too,  you  black  nigger,  or  I  '11  be 
the  first  to  thrash  you." 

Nevertheless,  when  Hannibal  and  Aunt 
Chloe  returned  to  clear  away  the  repast, 
they  were  a  harmonious  party;  albeit,  Mr. 
Hamlin  seemed  more  content  to  watch  them 
silently  from  his  chair  by  the  window,  a 
cigar  between  his  lips,  and  the  pleasant  dis- 
traction of  tne  homely  scents  and  sounds  of 
the  garden  in  his  senses.  Allusion  having 
been  made  again  to  the  morning  perform- 


42      A  Protegee,  of  Jack  Hamlirfs. 

ance  of  the  organ,  he  was  implored  by 
Hannibal  to  diversify  his  talent  by  exercis- 
ing it  on  an  old  guitar  which  had  passed 
into  that  retainer's  possession  with  certain 
clothes  of  his  master's  when  they  separated. 
Mr.  Hamlin  accepted  it  dubiously;  it  had 
twanged  under  his  volatile  fingers  in  more 
pretentious  but  less  innocent  halls.  But 
presently  he  raised  his  tenor  voice  and  soft 
brown  lashes  to  the  humble  ceiling  and 
sang. 

"  Way  down  upon  the  Swanee  River," 

Discoursed  Jack  plaintively,— 

"  Far,  far  away, 

Thar 's  whar  my  heart  is  turning  ever, 
Thar 's  whar  the  old  folks  stay." 

The  two  dusky  scions  of  an  emotional 
race,  that  had  been  wont  to  sweeten  its  toil 
and  condone  its  wrongs  with  music,  sat 
wrapt  and  silent,  swaying  with  Jack's  voice 
until  they  could  burst  in  upon  the  chorus. 
The  jasmine  vines  trilled  softly  with  the 
afternoon  breeze ;  a  slender  yellow-hammer, 
perhaps,  emulous  of  Jack,  swung  himself 
from  an  outer  spray  and  peered  curiously 
into  the  room ;  and  a  few  neighbors,  gather- 
ing at  their  doors  and  windows,  remarked 
that  "after  all,  when  it  came  to  real  sing- 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlirfs.      43 

ing,   no   one   could   beat    those   d — d   nig- 
gers." 

The  sun  was  slowly  sinking  in  the  rolling 
gold  of  the  river  when  Jack  and  Sophy 
started  leisurely  back  through  the  broken 
shafts  of  light,  and  across  the  far-stretching 
shadows  of  the  cotton  woods.  In  the  midst 
of  a  lazy  silence  they  were  presently  con- 
scious of  a  distant  monotonous  throb,  the 
booming  of  the  up  boat  on  the  river.  The 
sound  came  nearer  —  passed  them,  the  boat 
itself  hidden  by  the  trees;  but  a  trailing 
cloud  of  smoke  above  cast  a  momentary 
shadow  upon  their  path.  The  girl  looked 
up  at  Jack  with  a  troubled  face.  Mr. 
Hamlin  smiled  reassuringly;  but  in  that 
instant  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  it  was 
his  moral  duty  to  kill  Mr.  Edward  Strat- 
ton. 

IV. 

For  the  next  two  months  Mr.  Hamlin 
was  professionally  engaged  in  San  Fran- 
cisco and  Marysville,  and  the  transfer  of 
Sophy  from  the  school  to  her  new  home 
was  effected  without  his  supervision.  From 
letters  received  by  him  during  that  interval, 
it  seemed  that  the  young  girl  had  entered 


44       A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlins. 

energetically  upon  her  new  career,  and  that 
her  artistic  efforts  were  crowned  with  suc- 
cess. There  were  a  few  Indian-ink  sketches, 
studies  made  at  school  and  expanded  in  her 
own  "studio,"  which  were  eagerly  bought 
as  soon  as  exhibited  in  the  photographer's 
window,  —  notably  by  a  florid  and  inar- 
tistic bookkeeper,  an  old  negro  woman,  a 
slangy  stable  boy,  a  gorgeously  dressed  and 
painted  female,  and  the  bearded  second 
officer  of  a  river  steamboat,  without  hesita- 
tion and  without  comment.  This,  as  Mr. 
Hamlin  intelligently  pointed  out  in  a  letter 
to  Sophy,  showed  a  general  and  diversified 
appreciation  on  the  part  of  the  public.  In- 
deed, it  emboldened  her,  in  the  retouching 
of  photographs,  to  offer  sittings  to  the  sub- 
jects, and  to  undertake  even  large  crayon 
copies,  which  had  resulted  in  her  getting  so 
many  orders  that  she  was  no  longer  obliged 
to  sell  her  drawings,  but  restricted  herself 
solely  to  profitable  portraiture.  The  studio 
became  known;  even  its  quaint  surround- 
ings added  to  the  popular  interest,  and  the 
originality  and  independence  of  the  young 
painter  helped  her  to  a  genuine  success. 
All  this  she  wrote  to  Jack.  Meantime 
Hannibal  had  assured  him  that  he  had  car- 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlins.      45 

ried  out  his  instructions  by  informing 
"Missy"  of  his  old  master's  real  occupa- 
tion and  reputation,  but  that  the  young  lady 
hadn't  "took  no  notice."  Certainly  there 
was  no  allusion  to  it  in  her  letters,  nor  any 
indication  in  her  manner.  Mr.  Hamlin 
was  greatly,  and  it  seemed  to  him  properly, 
relieved.  And  he  looked  forward  with  con- 
siderable satisfaction  to  an  early  visit  to  old 
Hannibal's  laundry. 

It  must  be  confessed,  also,  that  another 
matter,  a  simple  affair  of  gallantry,  was 
giving  him  an  equally  unusual,  unexpected, 
and  absurd  annoyance,  which  he  had  never 
before  permitted  to  such  trivialities.  In  a 
recent  visit  to  a  fashionable  watering-place, 
he  had  attracted  the  attention  of  what  ap- 
peared to  be  a  respectable,  matter  of  fact 
woman,  the  wife  of  a  recently  elected  rural 
Senator.  She  was,  however,  singularly 
beautiful,  and  as  singularly  cold.  It  was 
perhaps  this  quality,  and  her  evident  annoy- 
ance at  some  unreasoning  prepossession 
which  Jack's  fascinations  exercised  upon 
her,  that  heightened  that  reckless  desire  for 
risk  and  excitement  which  really  made  up 
the  greater  part  of  his  gallantry.  Never- 
theless, as  was  his  habit,  he  had  treated  her 


46      A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlirfs. 

always  with  a  charming  unconsciousness  of 
his  own  attentions,  and  a  frankness  that 
seemed  inconsistent  with  any  insidious  ap- 
proach. In  fact,  Mr.  Hamlin  seldom  made 
love  to  anybody,  but  permitted  it  to  be 
made  to  him  with  good-humored  depreca- 
tion and  cheerful  skepticism.  He  had  once, 
quite  accidentally,  while  riding,  come  upon 
her  when  she  had  strayed  from  her  own 
riding  party,  and  had  behaved  with  such 
unexpected  circumspection  and  propriety, 
not  to  mention  a  certain  thoughtful  abstrac- 
tion, —  it  was  the  day  he  had  received 
Sophy's  letter,  — that  she  was  constrained 
to  make  the  first  advances.  This  led  to  a 
later  innocent  rendezvous,  in  which  Mrs. 
Camperly  was  impelled  to  confide  to  Mr. 
Hamlin  the  fact  that  her  husband  had 
really  never  understood  her.  Jack  listened 
with  an  understanding  and  sympathy  quick- 
ened by  long  experience  of  such  confessions. 
If  anything  had  ever  kept  him  from  mar- 
riage it  was  this  evident  incompatibility  of 
the  conjugal  relations  with  a  just  concep- 
tion of  the  feminine  soul  and  its  aspirations. 
And  so  eventually  this  yearning  for  sym- 
pathy dragged  Mrs.  Camperly 's  clean  skirts 
and  rustic  purity  after  Jack's  heels  into 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  ffamlirfs.      47 

various  places  and  various  situations  not  so 
clean,  rural,  or  innocent ;  made  her  misera- 
bly unhappy  in  his  absence,  and  still  more 
miserably  happy  in  his  presence;  impelled 
her  to  lie,  cheat,  and  bear  false  witness; 
forced  her  to  listen  with  mingled  shame  and 
admiration  to  narrow  criticism  of  his  faults, 
from  natures  so  palpably  inferior  to  his 
own  that  her  moral  sense  was  confused  and 
shaken;  gave  her  two  distinct  lives,  but  so 
unreal  and  feverish  that,  with  a  reckless- 
ness equal  to  his  own,  she  was  at  last  ready 
to  merge  them  both  into  his.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  Mr.  Hamlin  found  himself 
bored  at  the  beginning  of  an  affair,  actually 
hesitated,  and  suddenly  disappeared  from 
San  Francisco. 

He  turned  up  a  few  days  later  at  Aunt 
Chloe's  door,  with  various  packages  of  pres- 
ents and  quite  the  air  of  a  returning  father 
of  a  family,  to  the  intense  delight  of  that 
lady  and  to  Sophy's  proud  gratification. 
For  he  was  lost  in  a  profuse,  boyish  admi- 
ration of  her  pretty  studio,  and  of  whole- 
some reverence  for  her  art  and  her  astound- 
ing progress.  They  were  also  amused  at 
his  awe  and  evident  alarm  at  the  portraits 
of  two  ladies,  her  latest  sitters,  that  were 


48       A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlirfs. 

still  on  the  easels,  and,  in  consideration  of 
his  half -assumed,  half -real  bashfulness,  they 
turned  their  faces  to  the  wall.  Then  his 
quick,  observant  eye  detected  a  photograph 
of  himself  on  the  mantel. 

"What 's  that?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

Sophy  and  Aunt  Chloe  exchanged  mean- 
ing glances.  Sophy  had,  as  a  surprise  to 
Jack,  just  completed  a  handsome  crayon 
portrait  of  himself  from  an  old  photograph 
furnished  by  Hannibal,  and  the  picture  was 
at  that  moment  in  the  window  of  her  former 
patron,  —  the  photographer. 

"Oh,  dat!  Miss  Sophy  jus'  put  it  dar  fo' 
de  lady  sitters  to  look  at  to  gib  'em  a  pleasant 
'spresshion,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  chuckling. 

Mr.  Hamlin  did  not  laugh,  but  quietly 
slipped  the  photograph  into  his  pocket. 
Yet,  perhaps,  it  had  not  been  recognized. 

Then  Sophy  proposed  to  have  luncheon 
in  the  studio;  it  was  quite  "Bohemian  "  and 
fashionable,  and  many  artists  did  it.  But 
to  her  great  surprise  Jack  gravely  objected, 
preferring  the  little  parlor  of  Aunt  Chloe, 
the  vine-fringed  windows,  and  the  heavy 
respectable  furniture.  He  thought  it  was 
profaning  the  studio,  and  then  —  anybody 
might  come  in.  This  unusual  circumspec- 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  ffamliris.      49 

tion  amused  them,  and  was  believed  to  be 
part  of  the  boyish  awe  with  which  Jack 
regarded  the  models,  the  draperies,  and  the 
studies  on  the  walls.  Certain  it  was  that 
he  was  much  more  at  his  ease  in  the  parlor, 
and  when  he  and  Sophy  were  once  more 
alone  at  their  meal,  although  he  ate  nothing, 
he  had  regained  all  his  old  naivete.  Pres- 
ently he  leaned  forward  and  placed  his  hand 
fraternally  on  her  arm.  Sophy  looked  up 
with  an  equally  frank  smile. 

"You  know  I  promised  to  let  bygones 
be  bygones,  eh?  Well,  I  intended  it,  and 
more,  —  I  intended  to  make  'em  so.  I 
told  you  I  'd  never  speak  to  you  again  of 
that  man  who  tried  to  run  you  off,  and  I 
intended  that  no  one  else  should.  Well,  as 
he  was  the  only  one  who  could  talk  —  that 
meant  him.  But  the  cards  are  out  of  my 
hands;  the  game  's  been  played  without  me. 
For  he's  dead!" 

The  girl  started.  Mr.  Hamlin's  hand 
passed  caressingly  twice  or  thrice  along  her 
sleeve  with  a  peculiar  gentleness  that  seemed 
to  magnetize  her. 

"Dead,"  he  repeated  slowly.  "Shot  in 
San  Diego  by  another  man,  but  not  by  me. 
I  had  him  tracked  as  far  as  that,  and  had 


50      A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamliris. 

my  eyes  on  him,  but  it  wasn't  my  deal. 
But  there,"  he  added,  giving  her  magnet- 
ized arm  a  gentle  and  final  tap  as  if  to 
awaken  it,  "he  's  dead,  and  so  is  the  whole 
story.  And  now  we  '11  drop  it  forever." 

The  girl's  downcast  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  table.  "But  there's  my  sister,"  she 
murmured. 

"Did  she  know  you  went  with  him?" 
asked  Jack. 

"No;  but  she  knows  I  ran  away." 

"  Well,  you  ran  away  from  home  to  study 
how  to  be  an  artist,  don't  you  see?  Some 
day  she  '11  find  out  you  are  one  ;  that  settles 
the  whole  thing." 

They  were  both  quite  cheerful  again 
when  Aunt  Chloe  returned  to  clear  the 
table,  especially  Jack,  who  was  in  the  best 
spirits,  with  preternaturally  bright  eyes  and 
a  somewhat  rare  color  on  his  cheeks.  Aunt 
Chloe,  who  had  noticed  that  his  breathing 
was  hurried  at  times,  watched  him  nar- 
rowly, and  when  later  he  slipped  from  the 
room,  followed  him  into  the  passage.  He 
was  leaning  against  the  wall.  In  an  instant 
the  negress  was  at  his  side. 

"De  Lawdy  Gawd,  M^rse  Jack,  not 
ay  in  ?  " 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlin's.      51 

He  took  his  handkerchief,  slightly 
streaked  with  blood,  from  his  lips  and  said 
faintly,  "Yes,  it  came  on  —  on  the  boat; 
but  I  thought  the  d — d  thing  was  over. 
Get  me  out  of  this,  quick,  to  some  hotel, 
before  she  knows  it.  You  can  tell  her  I 
was  called  away.  Say  that "  —  but  his 
breath  failed  him,  and  when  Aunt  Chloe 
caught  him  like  a  child  in  her  strong  arms 
he  could  make  no  resistance. 

In  another  hour  he  was  unconscious,  with 
two  doctors  at  his  bedside,  in  the  little  room 
that  had  been  occupied  by  Sophy.  It  was 
a  sharp  attack,  but  prompt  attendance  and 
skillful  nursing  availed;  he  rallied  the  next 
day,  but  it  would  be  weeks,  the  doctors 
said,  before  he  could  be  removed  in  safety. 
Sophy  was  transferred  to  the  parlor,  but 
spent  most  of  her  time  at  Jack's  bedside 
with  Aunt  Chloe,  or  in  the  studio  with  the 
door  open  between  it  and  the  bedroom.  In 
spite  of  his  enforced  idleness  and  weakness, 
it  was  again  a  singularly  pleasant  experience 
to  Jack;  it  amused  him  to  sometimes  see 
Sophy  at  her  work  through  the  open  door, 
and  when  sitters  came,  —  for  he  had  in- 
sisted on  her  continuing  her  duties  as  before, 
keeping  his  invalid  presence  in  the  house  a 


52       A  Protegee  of  Jack  Ifamlin's. 

secret,  —  he  had  all  the  satisfaction  of  a 
mischievous  boy  in  rehearsing  to  Sophy  such 
of  the  conversation  as  could  be  overheard 
through  the  .closed  door,  and  speculating  on 
the  possible  wonder  and  chagrin  of  the  sit- 
ters had  they  discovered  him.  Even  when 
he  was  convalescent  and  strong  enough  to 
be  helped  into  the  parlor  and  garden,  he 
preferred  to  remain  propped  up  in  Sophy's 
little  bedroom.  It  was  evident,  however, 
that  this  predilection  was  connected  with  no 
suggestion  nor  reminiscence  of  Sophy  her- 
self. It  was  true  that  he  had  once  asked 
her  if  it  didn't  make  her  "feel  like  home." 
The  decided  negative  from  Sophy  seemed 
to  mildly  surprise  him.  "That's  odd,"  he 
said;  "now  all  these  fixings  and  things," 
pointing  to  the  flowers  in  a  vase,  the  little 
hanging  shelf  of  books,  the  knickknacks 
on  the  mantel-shelf,  and  the  few  feminine 
ornaments  that  still  remained,  "look  rather 
like  home  to  me." 

So  the  days  slipped  by,  and  although 
Mr.  Hamlin  was  soon  able  to  walk  short 
distances,  leaning  on  Sophy's  arm,  in  the 
evening  twilight,  along  the  river  bank,  he 
was  still  missed  from  the  haunts  of  dis- 
sipated men.  A  good  many  people  won- 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlirfs.      53 

dered,  and  others,  chiefly  of  the  more  ir- 
repressible sex,  were  singularly  concerned. 
Apparently  one  of  these,  one  sultry  after- 
noon, stopped  before  the  shadowed  window 
of  a  photographer's;  she  was  a  handsome, 
well-dressed  woman,  yet  bearing  a  certain 
countrylike  simplicity  that  was  unlike  the 
restless  smartness  of  the  more  urban  prom- 
enaders  that  passed  her.  Nevertheless  she 
had  halted  before  Mr.  Hamlin's  picture, 
which  Sophy  had  not  yet  dared  to  bring 
home  and  present  to  him,  and  was  gazing 
at  it  with  rapt  and  breathless  attention. 
Suddenly  she  shook  down  her  veil  and  en- 
tered the  shop.  Could  the  proprietor  kindly 
tell  her  if  that  portrait  was  the  work  of  a 
local  artist? 

The  proprietor  was  both  proud  and 
pleased  to  say  that  it  was!  It  was  the 
work  of  a  Miss  Brown,  a  young  girl  stu- 
dent; in  fact,  a  mere  schoolgirl  one  might 
say.  He  could  show  her  others  of  her  pic- 
tures. 

Thanks.  But  could  he  tell  her  if  this 
portrait  was  from  life  ? 

No  doubt ;  the  young  lady  had  a  studio, 
and  he  himself  had  sent  her  sitters. 

And  perhaps  this  was  the  portrait  of  one 
that  he  had  sent  her  ? 


64      A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamliris. 

No;  but  she  was  very  popular  and  be- 
coming quite  the  fashion.  Very  probably 
this  gentleman,  whom  he  understood  was 
quite  a  public  character,  had  heard  of  her, 
and  selected  her  on  that  account. 

The  lady's  face  flushed  slightly.  The 
photographer  continued.  The  picture  was 
not  for  sale;  it  was  only  there  on  exhibi- 
tion ;  in  fact  it  was  to  be  returned  to-mor- 
row. 

To  the  sitter? 

He  couldn't  say.  It  was  to  go  back  to 
the  studio.  Perhaps  the  sitter  would  be 
there. 

And  this  studio  ?  Could  she  have  its 
address? 

The  man  wrote  a  few  lines  on  his  card. 
Perhaps  the  lady  would  be  kind  enough 
to  say  that  he  had  sent  her.  The  lady, 
thanking  him,  partly  lifted  her  veil  to  show 
a  charming  smile,  and  gracefully  with- 
drew. The  photographer  was  pleased.  Miss 
Brown  had  evidently  got  another  sitter, 
and,  from  that  momentary  glimpse  of  her 
face,  it  would  be  a  picture  as  beautiful  and 
attractive  as  the  man's.  But  what  was  the 
odd  idea  that  struck  him?  She  certainly 
reminded  him  of  some  one !  There  was  the 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlin's.      55 

same  heavy  hair,  only  this  lady's  was 
golden,  and  she  was  older  and  more  mature. 
And  he  remained  for  a  moment  with  knitted 
brows  musing  over  his  counter. 

Meantime  the  fair  stranger  was  making 
her  way  towards  the  river  suburb.  When 
she  reached  Aunt  Chloe's  cottage,  she 
paused,  with  the  unfamiliar  curiosity  of  a 
newcomer,  over  its  quaint  and  incongruous 
exterior.  She  hesitated  a  moment  also 
when  Aunt  Chloe  appeared  in  the  doorway, 
and,  with  a  puzzled  survey  of  her  features, 
went  upstairs  to  announce  a  visitor.  There 
was  the  sound  of  hurried  shutting  of  doors, 
of  the  moving  of  furniture,  quick  foot- 
steps across  the  floor,  and  then  a  girlish 
laugh  that  startled  her.  She  ascended  the 
stairs  breathlessly  to  Aunt  Chloe's  sum- 
mons, found  the  negress  on  the  landing, 
and  knocked  at  a  door  which  bore  a  card 
marked  "Studio."  The  door  opened;  she 
entered;  there  were  two  sudden  outcries 
that  might  have  come  from  one  voice. 

"Sophonisba!" 

"Marianne!" 

"Hush." 

The  woman  had  seized  Sophy  by  the 
wrist  and  dragged  her  to  the  window. 


56       A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlin1  s. 

There  was  a  haggard  look  of  desperation  in 
her  face  akin  to  that  which  Hamlin  had 
once  seen  in  her  sister's  eyes  on  the  boat, 
as  she  said  huskily :  "  I  did  not  know  you 
were  here.  I  came  to  see  the  woman  who 
had  painted  Mr.  Hamlin' s  portrait.  I  did 
not  know  it  was  you.  Listen!  Quick! 
answer  me  one  question.  Tell  me  —  I  im- 
plore you  —  for  the  sake  of  the  mother  who 
bore  us  both !  —  tell  me  —  is  this  the  man 
for  whom  you  left  home? " 

"No !     No !     A  hundred  times  no !  " 

Then  there  was  a  silence.  Mr.  Hamlin 
from  the  bedroom  heard  no  more. 

An  hour  later,  when  the  two  women 
opened  the  studio  door,  pale  but  composed, 
they  were  met  by  the  anxious  and  tearful 
face  of  Aunt  Chloe. 

"Lawdy  Gawd,  Missy,  —  but  dey  done 
gone !  —  bofe  of  'em !  " 

"Who  is  gone?  "  demanded  Sophy,  as  the 
woman  beside  her  trembled  and  grew  paler 
still. 

"Marse  Jack  and  dat  fool  nigger,  Han- 
nibal." 

"Mr.  Hamlin  gone?"  repeated  Sophy 
incredulously.  "  When  ?  Where  ?  " 

"Jess  now  —  on  de  down  boat.     Sudden 


A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamliris.       57 

business.  Did  n't  like  to  disturb  yo'  and 
yo'  friend.  Said  he  'd  write." 

"  But  he  was  ill  —  almost  helpless," 
gasped  Sophy. 

"Dat  's  why  he  took  dat  old  nigger. 
Lawdy,  Missy,  bress  yo'  heart.  Dey  both 
knows  aich  udder,  shuah!  It's  all  right. 
Dar  now,  dar  dey  are;  listen." 

She  held  up  her  hand.  A  slow  pulsation, 
that  might  have  been  the  dull,  labored  beat- 
ing of  their  own  hearts,  was  making  itself 
felt  throughout  the  little  cottage.  It  came 
nearer,  —  a  deep  regular  inspiration  that 
seemed  slowly  to  fill  and  possess  the  whole 
tranquil  summer  twilight.  It  was  nearer 
still  —  was  abreast  of  the  house  —  passed  — 
grew  fainter  and  at  last  died  away  like  a 
deep-drawn  sigh.  It  was  the  down  boat, 
that  was  now  separating  Mr.  Hamlin  and  his 
protegee,  even  as  it  had  once  brought  them 
together. 


AN   INGENUE    OF   THE   SIERRAS. 
I. 

WE  all  held  our  breath  as  the  coach 
rushed  through  the  semi-darkness  of  Gal- 
loper's Ridge.  The  vehicle  itself  was  only 
a  huge  lumbering  shadow;  its  side-lights 
were  carefully  extinguished,  and  Yuba  Bill 
had  just  politely  removed  from  the  lips  of 
an  outside  passenger  even  the  cigar  with 
which  he  had  been  ostentatiously  exhibit- 
ing his  coolness.  For  it  had  been  rumored 
that  the  Ramon  Martinez  gang  of  "road 
agents"  were  "laying"  for  us  on  the  sec- 
ond grade,  and  would  time  the  passage  of 
our  lights  across  Galloper's  in  order  to 
intercept  us  in  the  "brush  "  beyond.  If  we 
could  cross  the  ridge  without  being  seen, 
and  so  get  through  the  brush  before  they 
reached  it,  we  were  safe.  If  they  followed, 
it  would  only  be  a  stern  chase  with  the  odds 
in  our  favor. 

The  huge  vehicle  swayed  from  side  to 
side,  rolled,  dipped,  and  plunged,  but  Bill 


An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras.         59 

kept  the  track,  as  if,  in  the  whispered 
words  of  the  Expressman,  he  could  "feel 
and  smell "  the  road  he  could  no  longer  see. 
We  knew  that  at  times  we  hung  perilously 
over  the  edge  of  slopes  that  eventually 
dropped  a  thousand  feet  sheer  to  the  tops 
of  the  sugar-pines  below,  but  we  knew  that 
Bill  knew  it  also.  The  half  visible  heads 
of  the  horses,  drawn  wedge-wise  together 
by  the  tightened  reins,  appeared  to  cleave 
the  darkness  like  a  ploughshare,  held  be- 
tween his  rigid  hands.  Even  the  hoof- 
beats  of  the  six  horses  had  fallen  into 
a  vague,  monotonous,  distant  roll.  Then 
the  ridge  was  crossed,  and  we  plunged  into 
the  still  blacker  obscurity  of  the  brush. 
Rather  we  no  longer  seemed  to  move  —  it 
was  only  the  phantom  night  that  rushed 
by  us.  The  horses  might  have  been  sub- 
merged in  some  swift  Lethean  stream ;  no- 
thing but  the  top  of  the  coach  and  the  rigid 
bulk  of  Yuba  Bill  arose  above  them.  Yet 
even  in  that  awful  moment  our  speed  was 
unslackened ;  it  was  as  if  Bill  cared  no  lon- 
ger to  guide  but  only  to  drive,  or  as  if  the 
direction  of  his  huge  machine  was  deter- 
mined by  other  hands  than  his.  An  incau- 
tious whisperer  hazarded  the  paralyzing 


60         An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras. 

suggestion  of  our  "meeting  another  team." 
To  our  great  astonishment  Bill  overheard 
it;  to  our  greater  astonishment  he  replied. 
"It  'ud  be  only  a  neck  and  neck  race  which 
would  get  to  h — 11  first,"  he  said  quietly. 
But  we  were  relieved  —  for  he  had  spoken  ! 
Almost  simultaneously  the  wider  turnpike 
began  to  glimmer  faintly  as  a  visible  track 
before  us ;  the  wayside  trees  fell  out  of  line, 
opened  up,  and  dropped  off  one  after  an- 
other; we  were  on  the  broader  table-land, 
out  of  danger,  and  apparently  unperceived 
and  unpursued. 

Nevertheless  in  the  conversation  that 
broke  out  again  with  the  relighting  of  the 
lamps,  and  the  comments,  congratulations, 
and  reminiscences  that  were  freely  ex- 
changed, Yuba  Bill  preserved  a  dissatisfied 
and  even  resentful  silence.  The  most  gen- 
erous praise  of  his  skill  and  courage  awoke 
no  response.  "I  reckon  the  old  man  waz 
just  spilin'  for  a  fight,  and  is  feelin'  disap- 
pointed," said  a  passenger.  But  those  who 
knew  that  Bill  had  the  true  fighter's  scorn 
for  any  purely  purposeless  conflict  were 
more  or  less  concerned  and  watchful  of  him. 
He  would  drive  steadily  for  four  or  five 
minutes  with  thoughtfully  knitted  brows, 


An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras.          61 

but  eyes  still  keenly  observant  under  his 
slouched  hat,  and  then,  relaxing  his  strained 
attitude,  would  give  way  to  a  movement  of 
impatience.  "You  ain't  uneasy  about  any- 
thing, Bill,  are  you?  "  asked  the  Express- 
man confidentially.  Bill  lifted  his  eyes 
with  a  slightly  contemptuous  surprise. 
"Not  about  anything  ter  come.  It 's  what 
hez  happened  that  I  don't  exackly  sabe.  I 
don't  see  no  signs  of  Ramon's  gang  ever 
havin'  been  out  at  all,  and  ef  they  were  out 
I  don't  see  why  they  didn't  go  for  us." 

"  The  simple  fact  is  that  our  ruse  was 
successful,"  said  an  outside  passenger. 
"  They  waited  to  see  our  lights  on  the  ridge, 
and,  not  seeing  them,  missed  us  until  we 
had  passed.  That 's  my  opinion." 

"You  ain't  puttin'  any  price  on  that 
opinion,  air  ye?"  inquired  Bill  politely. 

"No." 

"'Cos  thar  's  a  comic  paper  in  'Frisco 
pays  for  them  things,  and  I  've  seen  worse 
things  in  it." 

"Come  off,  Bill,"  retorted  the  passenger, 
slightly  nettled  by  the  tittering  of  his  com- 
panions. "Then  what  did  you  put  out  the 
lights  for?  " 

"Well,"  returned  Bill  grimly,  "it  mout 


62         An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras. 

have  been  because  I  did  n't  keer  to  hev  you 
chaps  blazin'  away  at  the  first  bush  you 
thought  you  saw  move  in  your  skeer,  and 
bringin'  down  their  fire  on  us." 

The  explanation,  though  unsatisfactory, 
was  by  no  means  an  improbable  one,  and 
we  thought  it  better  to  accept  it  with  a 
laugh.  Bill,  however,  resumed  his  ab- 
stracted manner. 

"Who  got  in  at  the  Summit?  "  he  at  last 
asked  abruptly  of  the  Expressman. 

"Derrick  and  Simpson  of  Cold  Spring, 
and  one  of  the  'Excelsior  '  boys,"  responded 
the  Expressman. 

"And  that  Pike  County  girl  from  Dow's 
Flat,  with  her  bundles.  Don't  forget  her," 
added  the  outside  passenger  ironically. 

"Does  anybody  here  know  her?  "  contin- 
ued Bill,  ignoring  the  irony. 

"You  'd  better  ask  Judge  Thompson;  he 
was  mighty  attentive  to  her;  gettin'  her  a 
seat  by  the  off  window,  and  lookin'  after 
her  bundles  and  things." 

"Gettin'  her  a  seat  by  the  window? "  re- 
peated Bill. 

"Yes,  she  wanted  to  see  everything,  and 
wasn't  afraid  of  the  shooting." 

"Yes,"  broke  in  a  third  passenger,  "and 


An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras.          63 

he  was  so  d — d  civil  that  when  she  dropped 
her  ring  in  the  straw,  he  struck  a  match 
agin  all  your  rules,  you  know,  and  held  it 
for  her  to  find  it.  And  it  was  just  as  we 
were  crossin'  through  the  brush,  too.  I  saw 
the  hull  thing  through  the  window,  for  I 
was  hanging  over  the  wheels  with  my  gun 
ready  for  action.  And  it  wasn't  no  fault 
of  Judge  Thompson's  if  his  d — d  foolishness 
had  n't  shown  us  up,  and  got  us  a  shot  from 
the  gang." 

Bill  gave  a  short  grunt,  but  drove  steadily 
on  without  further  comment  or  even  turning 
his  eyes  to  the  speaker. 

We  were  now  not  more  than  a  mile  from 
the  station  at  the  crossroads  where  we  were 
to  change  horses.  The  lights  already  glim- 
mered in  the  distance,  and  there  was  a  faint 
suggestion  of  the  coming  dawn  on  the  sum- 
mits of  the  ridge  to  the  west.  We  had 
plunged  into  a  belt  of  timber,  when  sud- 
denly a  horseman  emerged  at  a  sharp  canter 
from  a  trail  that  seemed  to  be  parallel  with 
our  own.  We  were  all  slightly  startled; 
Yuba  Bill  alone  preserving  his  moody  calm. 

"Hullo!  "he  said. 

The  stranger  wheeled  to  our  side  as  Bill 
slackened  his  speed.  He  seemed  to  be  a 
"packer"  or  freight  muleteer. 


64         An  Inyenue  of  the  Sierras. 

"Ye  didn't  get  'held  up'  on  the  Di- 
vide?" continued  Bill  cheerfully. 

"No,"  returned  the  packer,  with  a  laugh; 
"/don't  carry  treasure.  But  I  see  you  're 
all  right,  too.  I  saw  you  crossin'  over  Gal- 
loper's." 

"  Saw  us  ?  "  said  Bill  sharply.  "  We  had 
our  lights  out." 

"Yes,  but  there  was  suthin'  white  —  a 
handkerchief  or  woman's  veil,  I  reckon  — 
hangin'  from  the  window.  It  was  only  a 
movin'  spot  agin  the  hillside,  but  ez  I  was 
lookin'  out  for  ye  I  knew  it  was  you  by 
that.  Good-night!" 

He  cantered  away.  We  tried  to  look  at 
each  other's  faces,  and  at  Bill's  expression 
in  the  darkness,  but  he  neither  spoke  nor 
stirred  until  he  threw  down  the  reins  when 
we  stopped  before  the  station.  The  passen- 
gers quickly  descended  from  the  roof;  the 
Expressman  was  about  to  follow,  but  Bill 
plucked  his  sleeve. 

"I  'm  goin'  to  take  a  look  over  this  yer 
stage  and  these  yer  passengers  with  ye, 
afore  we  start." 

"Why,  what 'sup?" 

"Well,"  said  Bill,  slowly  disengaging 
himself  from  one  of  his  enormous  gloves, 


An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras.         65 

"when  we  waltzed  down  into  the  brush  up 
there  I  saw  a  man,  ez  plain  ez  I  see  you, 
rise  up  from  it.  I  thought  our  time  had 
come  and  the  band  was  go  in'  to  play,  when 
he  sorter  drew  back,  made  a  sign,  and  we 
just  scooted  past  him." 

"Well?" 

"Well,"  said  Bill,  "it  means  that  this  yer 
coach  was  passed  through  free  to-night." 

"You  don't  object  to  that  —  surely?  I 
think  we  were  deucedly  lucky." 

Bill  slowly  drew  off  his  other  glove. 
"I've  been  risMn'  my  everlastin'  life  on 
this  d — d  line  three  times  a  week,"  he  said 
with  mock  humility,  "and  I  'm  allus  thank- 
ful for  small  mercies.  But,"  he  added 
grimly,  "when  it  comes  down  to  being  passed 
free  by  some  pal  of  a  hoss  thief,  and  thet 
called  a  speshal  Providence,  I  ain't  in  it! 
No,  sir,  I  ain't  in  it!  " 

II. 

It  was  with  mixed  emotions  that  the  pas- 
sengers heard  that  a  delay  of  fifteen  minutes 
to  tighten  certain  screw-bolts  had  been  or- 
dered by  the  autocratic  Bill.  Some  were 
anxious  to  get  their  breakfast  at  Sugar 


66         An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras. 

Pine,  but  others  were  not  averse  to  linger 
for  the  daylight  that  promised  greater  safety 
on  the  road.  The  Expressman,  knowing 
the  real  cause  of  Bill's  delay,  was  neverthe- 
less at  a  loss  to  understand  the  object  of  it. 
The  passengers  were  all  well  known;  any 
idea  of  complicity  with  the  road  agents  was 
wild  and  impossible,  and,  even  if  there  was 
a  confederate  of  the  gang  among  them,  he 
would  have  been  more  likely  to  precipitate 
a  robbery  than  to  check  it.  Again,  the 
discovery  of  such  a  confederate  —  to  whom 
they  clearly  owed  their  safety  —  and  his 
arrest  would  have  been  quite  against  the 
Calif ornian  sense  of  justice,  if  not  actually 
illegal.  It  seemed  evident  that  Bill's  quix- 
otic sense  of  honor  was  leading  him  astray. 
The  station  consisted  of  a  stable,  a  wagon 
shed,  and  a  building  containing  three  rooms. 
The  first  was  fitted  up  with  "  bunks  "  or 
sleeping  berths  for  the  employees ;  the  second 
was  the  kitchen;  and  the  third  and  larger 
apartment  was  dining-room  or  sitting-room, 
and  was  used  as  general  waiting-room  for 
the  passengers.  It  was  not  a  refreshment 
station,  and  there  was  no  "bar."  But  a 
mysterious  command  from  the  omnipotent 
Bill  produced  a  demijohn  of  whiskey,  with 


An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras.         67 

which  he  hospitably  treated  the  company. 
The  seductive  influence  of  the  liquor  loos- 
ened the  tongue  of  the  gallant  Judge 
Thompson.  He  admitted  to  having  struck 
a  match  to  enable  the  fair  Pike  Countian 
to  find  her  ring,  which,  however,  proved  to 
have  fallen  in  her  lap.  She  was  "a  fine, 
healthy  young  woman  —  a  type  of  the  Far 
West,  sir ;  in  fact,  quite  a  prairie  blossom ! 
yet  simple  and  guileless  as  a  child."  She 
was  on  her  way  to  Marysville,  he  believed, 
"although  she  expected  to  meet  friends  — 
a  friend,  in  fact  —  later  on."  It  was  her 
first  visit  to  a  large  town  —  in  fact,  any 
civilized  centre  —  since  she  crossed  the 
plains  three  years  ago.  Her  girlish  curi- 
osity was  quite  touching,  and  her  innocence 
irresistible.  In  fact,  in  a  country  whose 
tendency  was  to  produce  "frivolity  and 
forwardness  in  young  girls,  he  found  her  a 
most  interesting  young  person."  She  was 
even  then  out  in  the  stable-yard  watching 
the  horses  being  harnessed,  "preferring  to 
indulge  a  pardonable  healthy  young  curios- 
ity than  to  listen  to  the  empty  compliments 
of  the  younger  passengers." 

The  figure  which  Bill  saw  thus  engaged, 
without  being  otherwise  distinguished,  cer- 


68         An  Ingenue,  of  the  Sierras. 

tainly  seemed  to  justify  the  Judge's  opin- 
ion. She  appeared  to  be  a  well-matured 
country  girl,  whose  frank  gray  eyes  and 
large  laughing  mouth  expressed  a  whole- 
some and  abiding  gratification  in  her  life 
and  surroundings.  She  was  watching  the 
replacing  of  luggage  in  the  boot.  A  little 
feminine  start,  as  one  of  her  own  parcels 
was  thrown  somewhat  roughly  on  the  roof, 
gave  Bill  his  opportunity.  "Now  there," 
he  growled  to  the  helper,  "ye  ain't  carting- 
stone  !  Look  out,  will  yer !  Some  of  your 
things,  miss?"  he  added,  with  gruff  cour- 
tesy, turning  to  her.  "These  yer  trunks, 
for  instance?" 

She  smiled  a  pleasant  assent,  and  Bill, 
pushing  aside  the  helper,  seized  a  large 
square  trunk  in  his  arms.  But  from  excess 
of  zeal,  or  some  other  mischance,  his  foot 
slipped,  and  he  came  down  heavily,  striking 
the  corner  of  the  trunk  on  the  ground  and 
loosening  its  hinges  and  fastenings.  It  was 
a  cheap,  common-looking  affair,  but  the 
accident  discovered  in  its  yawning  lid  a 
quantity  of  white,  lace-edged  feminine  ap- 
parel of  an  apparently  superior  quality. 
The  young  lady  uttered  another  cry  and 
came  quickly  forward,  but  Bill  was  profuse 


An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras.          69 

in  his  apologies,  himself  girded  the  broken 
box  with  a  strap,  and  declared  his  intention 
of  having  the  company  "make  it  good"  to 
her  with  a  new  one.  Then  he  casually  ac- 
companied her  to  the  door  of  the  waiting- 
room,  entered,  made  a  place  for  her  before 
the  fire  by  simply  lifting  the  nearest  and 
most  youthful  passenger  by  the  coat  collar 
from  the  stool  that  he  was  occupying,  and, 
having  installed  the  lady  in  it,  displaced 
another  man  who  was  standing  before  the 
chimney,  and,  drawing  himself  up  to  his  full 
six  feet  of  height  in  front  of  her,  glanced 
down  upon  his  fair  passenger  as  he  took  his 
waybill  from  his  pocket. 

"Your  name  is  down  here  as  Miss  Mul- 
lins?  "  he  said. 

She  looked  up,  became  suddenly  aware 
that  she  and  her  questioner  were  the  centre 
of  interest  to  the  whole  circle  of  passengers, 
and,  with  a  slight  rise  of  color,  returned, 
"Yes." 

"Well,  Miss  Mullins,  I  've  got  a  question 
or  two  to  ask  ye.  I  ask  it  straight  out  afore 
this  crowd.  It  's  in  my  rights  to  take  ye 
aside  and  ask  it  —  but  that  ain't  my  style; 
I  'm  no  detective.  I  needn't  ask  it  at  all, 
but  act  as  ef  I  knowed  the  answer,  or  I 


70         An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras. 

might  leave  it  to  be  asked  by  others.  Ye 
needn't  answer  it  ef  ye  don't  like;  ye  *ve 
got  a  friend  over  ther  —  Judge  Thompson 
—  who  is  a  friend  to  ye,  right  or  wrong, 
jest  as  any  other  man  here  is  —  as  though 
ye  'd  packed  your  own  jury.  Well,  the 
simple  question  I  've  got  to  ask  ye  is  this  : 
Did  you  signal  to  anybody  from  the  coach 
when  we  passed  Galloper's  an  hour  ago?" 

We  all  thought  that  Bill's  courage  and 
audacity  had  reached  its  climax  here.  To 
openly  and  publicly  accuse  a  "lady"  before 
a  group  of  chivalrous  Californians,  and 
that  lady  possessing  the  further  attractions 
of  youth,  good  looks,  and  innocence,  was 
little  short  of  desperation.  There  was  an 
evident  movement  of  adhesion  towards  the 
fair  stranger,  a  slight  muttering  broke  out 
on  the  right,  but  the  very  boldness  of  the 
act  held  them  in  stupefied  surprise.  Judge 
Thompson,  with  a  bland  propitiatory  smile 
began:  "Really,  Bill,  I  must  protest  on 
behalf  of  this  young  lady  "  —  when  the  fair 
accused,  raising  her  eyes  to  her  accuser,  to 
the  consternation  of  everybody  answered 
with  the  slight  but  convincing  hesitation  of 
conscientious  truthfulness :  — 

K/dW." 


An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras.         71 

"Ahem!"  interposed  the  Judge  hastily, 
"  er  —  that  is  —  er  —  you  allowed  your 
handkerchief  to  flutter  from  the  window,  — 
I  noticed  it  myself,  —  casually  —  one  might 
say  even  playfully  —  but  without  any  par- 
ticular significance." 

The  girl,  regarding  her  apologist  with  a 
singular  mingling  of  pride  and  impatience, 
returned  briefly :  — % 

"I  signaled." 

"Who  did  you  signal  to?"  asked  Bill 
gravely. 

"The  young  gentleman  I  'm  going  to 
marry." 

A  start,  followed  by  a  slight  titter  from 
the  younger  passengers,  was  instantly  sup- 
pressed by  a  savage  glance  from  Bill. 

"What  did  you  signal  to  him  for?"  he 
continued. 

"To  tell  him  I  was  here,  and  that  it  was 
all  right,"  returned  the  young  girl,  with  a 
steadily  rising  pride  and  color. 

"Wot  was  all  right?"  demanded  Bill. 

"That  I  wasn't  followed,  and  that  he 
could  meet  me  on  the  road  beyond  Cass's 
Ridge  Station."  She  hesitated  a  moment, 
and  then,  with  a  still  greater  pride,  in  which 
a  youthful  defiance  was  still  mingled,  said : 


72          An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras. 

"I  've  run  away  from  home  to  marry  him. 
And  I  mean  to!  No  one  can  stop  me. 
Dad  didn't  like  him  just  because  he  was 
poor,  and  dad  's  got  money.  Dad  wanted 
me  to  marry  a  man  I  hate,  and  got  a  lot  of 
dresses  and  things  to  bribe  me." 

"And  you  're  taking  them  in  your  trunk 
to  the  other  feller?"  said  Bill  grimly. 

"Yes,  he  's  poor,"  returned  the  girl  de- 
fiantly. 

"Then  your  father's  name  is  Mullins?" 
asked  Bill. 

"It's  not  Mullins.  I  — I  — took  that 
name,"  she  hesitated,  with  her  first  exhibi- 
tion of  self -consciousness. 

" Wot  is  his  name?" 

"Eli  Hemmings." 

A  smile  of  relief  and  significance  went 
round  the  circle.  The  fame  of  Eli  or 
"Skinner"  Hemmings,  as  a  notorious  miser 
and  usurer,  had  passed  even  beyond  Gal- 
loper's Kidge. 

"The  step  that  you  're  taking,  Miss  Mul- 
lins, I  need  not  tell  you,  is  one  of  great 
gravity,"  said  Judge  Thompson,  with  a  cer- 
tain paternal  seriousness  of  manner,  in 
which,  however,  we  were  glad  to  detect  a 
glaring  affectation;  "and  I  trust  that  you 


An  Ingenue  of  the  /Sierras.          73 

and  your  affianced  have  fully  weighed  it. 
Far  be  it  from  me  to  interfere  with  or  ques- 
tion the  natural  affections  of  two  young 
people,  but  may  I  ask  you  what  you  know 
of  the  —  er  —  young  gentleman  for  whom 
you  are  sacrificing  so  much,  and,  perhaps, 
imperiling  your  whole  future?  For  in- 
stance, have  you  known  him  long?" 

The  slightly  troubled  air  of  trying  to 
understand,  —  not  unlike  the  vague  won- 
derment of  childhood,  —  with  which  Miss 
Mullins  had  received  the  beginning  of  this 
exordium,  changed  to  a  relieved  smile  of 
comprehension  as  she  said  quickly,  "Oh 
yes,  nearly  a  whole  year." 

"And,"  said  the  Judge,  smiling,  "has  he 
a  vocation  —  is  he  in  business?  " 

"Oh  yes,"  she  returned;  "he's  a  collec- 
tor." 

"A  collector?" 

"Yes;  he  collects  bills,  you  know,  — 
money,"  she  went  on,  with  childish  eager- 
ness, "  not  for  himself,  —  he  never  has  any 
money,  poor  Charley,  —  but  for  his  firm. 
It's  dreadful  hard  work,  too;  keeps  him 
out  for  days  and  nights,  over  bad  roads  and 
baddest  weather.  Sometimes,  when  he 's 
stole  over  to  the  ranch  just  to  see  me,  he  's 


74         An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras. 

been  so  bad  he  could  scarcely  keep  his  seat 
in  the  saddle,  much  less  stand.  And  he  's 
got  to  take  mighty  big  risks,  too.  Times 
the  folks  are  cross  with  him  and  won't  pay; 
once  they  shot  him  in  the  arm,  and  he  came 
to  me,  and  I  helped  do  it  up  for  him.  But 
he  don't  mind.  He  's  real  brave,  —  jest  as 
brave  as  he  's  good."  There  was  such  a 
wholesome  ring  of  truth  in  this  pretty  praise 
that  we  were  touched  in  sympathy  with  the 
speaker. 

"What  firm  does  he  collect  for?"  asked 
the  Judge  gently. 

"I  don't  know  exactly  —  he  won't  tell 
me;  but  I  think  it 's  a  Spanish  firm.  You 
see"  —  she  took  us  all  into  her  confidence 
with  a  sweeping  smile  of  innocent  yet  half- 
mischievous  artfulness  —  "I  only  know  be- 
cause I  peeped  over  a  letter  he  once  got 
from  his  firm,  telling  him  he  must  hustle 
up  and  be  ready  for  the  road  the  next  day ; 
but  I  think  the  name  was  Martinez  —  yes, 
Ramon  Martinez." 

In  the  dead  silence  that  ensued  —  a  si- 
lence so  profound  that  we  could  hear  the 
horses  in  the  distant  stable-yard  rattling 
their  harness  —  one  of  the  younger  "  Excel- 
sior "  boys  burst  into  a  hysteric  laugh,  but 


An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras.          75 

the  fierce  eye  of  Yuba  Bill  was  down  upon 
him,  and  seemed  to  instantly  stiffen  him 
into  a  silent,  grinning  mask.  The  young- 
girl,  however,  took  no  note  of  it.  Following- 
out,  with  lover-like  diffusiveness,  the  remi- 
niscences thus  awakened,  she  went  on :  — 

"Yes,  it  's  mighty  hard  work,  but  he 
says  it 's  all  for  me,  and  as  soon  as  we  're 
married  he  '11  quit  it.  He  might  have  quit 
it  before,  but  he  won't  take  no  money  of 
me,  nor  what  I  told  him  I  could  get  out  of 
dad!  That  ain't  his  style.  He's  mighty 
proud  —  if  he  is  poor  —  is  Charley.  Why 
thar  's  all  ma's  money  which  she  left  me  in 
the  Savin's  Bank  that  I  wanted  to  draw  out 
—  for  I  had  the  right  —  and  give  it  to  him, 
but  he  wouldn't  hear  of  it!  Why,  he 
would  n't  take  one  of  the  things  I  've  got 
with  me,  if  he  knew  it.  And  so  he  goes  on 
ridin'  and  ridin',  here  and  there  and  every- 
where, and  gettin'  more  and  more  played 
out  and  sad,  and  thin  and  pale  as  a  spirit, 
and  always  so  uneasy  about  his  business, 
and  startin'  up  at  times  when  we  're  meetin' 
out  in  the  South  Woods  or  in  the  far 
clearin',  and  sayin' :  'I  must  be  goin'  now, 
Polly,'  and  yet  always  try  in'  to  be  chiffle 
and  chipper  afore  me.  Why  he  must  have 


76         An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras. 

rid  miles  and  miles  to  have  watched  for  me 
thar  in  the  brush  at  the  foot  of  Galloper's 
to-night,  jest  to  see  if  all  was  safe;  and 
Lordy!  I  'd  have  given  him  the  signal  and 
showed  a  light  if  I  'd  died  for  it  the  next 
minit.  There!  That  's  what  I  know  of 
Charley  —  that's  what  I'm  running  away 
from  home  for  —  that 's  what  I  'm  running 
to  him  for,  and  I  don't  care  who  knows  it! 
And  I  only  wish  I  'd  done  it  afore  —  and  I 
would  —  if  —  if  —  if  —  he  'd  only  asked 
me!  There  now!"  She  stopped,  panted, 
and  choked.  Then  one  of  the  sudden  tran- 
sitions of  youthful  emotion  overtook  the 
eager,  laughing  face;  it  clouded  up  with 
the  swift  change  of  childhood,  a  lightning 
quiver  of  expression  broke  over  it,  and  — 
then  came  the  rain ! 

I  think  this  simple  act  completed  our 
utter  demoralization !  We  smiled  feebly  at 
each  other  with  that  assumption  of  mascu- 
line superiority  which  is  miserably  conscious 
of  its  own  helplessness  at  such  moments. 
We  looked  out  of  the  window,  blew  our 
noses,  said:  "Eh  —  what?"  and  "I  say," 
vaguely  to  each  other,  and  were  greatly  re- 
lieved, and  yet  apparently  astonished,  when 
Yuba  Bill,  who  had  turned  his  back  upon 


An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras.         77 

the  fair  speaker,  and  was  kicking  the  logs 
in  the  fireplace,  suddenly  swept  down  upon 
us  and  bundled  us  all  into  the  road,  leaving 
Miss  Mullins  alone.  Then  he  walked  aside 
with  Judge  Thompson  for  a  few  moments ; 
returned  to  us,  autocratically  demanded  of 
the  party  a  complete  reticence  towards  Miss 
Mullins  on  the  subject  -  matter  under  dis- 
cussion, reentered  the  station,  reappeared 
with  the  young  lady,  suppressed  a  faint 
idiotic  cheer  which  broke  from  us  at  the 
spectacle  of  her  innocent  face  once  more 
cleared  and  rosy,  climbed  the  box,  and  in 
another  moment  we  were  under  way. 

"  Then  she  don't  know  what  her  lover  is 
yet?  "  asked  the  Expressman  eagerly. 

"No." 

"Are  you  certain  it 's  one  of  the  gang?  " 

"Can't  say/or  sure.  It  mout  be  a  young 
chap  from  Yolo  who  bucked  agin  the  tiger l 
at  Sacramento,  got  regularly  cleaned  out 
and  busted,  and  joined  the  gang  for  a  flier. 
They  say  thar  was  a  new  hand  in  that  job 
over  at  Keeley's,  — and  a  mighty  game  one, 
too;  and  ez  there  was  some  buckshot  on- 
loaded  that  trip,  he  might  hev  got  his  share, 
and  that  would  tally  with  what  the  girl  said 

1  Gambled  at  faro. 


78          An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras. 

about  his  arm.  See!  Ef  that's  the  man, 
I  've  heered  he  was  the  son  of  some  big 
preacher  in  the  States,  and  a  college  sharp 
to  boot,  who  ran  wild  in  'Frisco,  and  played 
himself  for  all  he  was  worth.  They  're  the 
wust  kind  to  kick  when  they  once  get  a  foot 
over  the  traces.  For  stiddy,  comf 'ble  kem- 
pany,"  added  Bill  reflectively,  "give  me 
the  son  of  a  man  that  was  hanged!  " 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do  about 
this?" 

"  That  depends  upon  the  feller  who  comes 
to  meet  her." 

"But  you  ain't  going  to  try  to  take  him? 
That  would  be  playing  it  pretty  low  down 
on  them  both." 

"Keep  your  hair  on,  Jimmy !  The  Judge 
and  me  are  only  going  to  rastle  with  the 
sperrit  of  that  gay  young  galoot,  when  he 
drops  down  for  his  girl  —  and  exhort  him 
pow'ful!  Ef  he  allows  he's  convicted  of 
sin  and  will  find  the  Lord,  we  '11  marry  him 
and  the  gal  offhand  at  the  next  station,  and 
the  Judge  will  officiate  himself  for  nothin'. 
We  're  goin'  to  have  this  yer  elopement 
done  on  the  square  —  and  our  waybill  clean 
—  you  bet! " 

"But  you  don't  suppose  he  '11  trust  him- 
self in  your  hands?" 


An  Ingenue,  of  the   Sierras.         79 

"  Polly  will  signal  to  him  that  it  's  all 
square." 

"Ah!  "  said  the  Expressman.  Neverthe- 
less in  those  few  moments  the  men  seemed 
to  have  exchanged  dispositions.  The  Ex- 
pressman looked  doubtfully,  critically,  and 
even  cynically  before  him.  Bill's  face  had 
relaxed,  and  something  like  a  bland  smile 
beamed  across  it,  as  he  drove  confidently 
and  unhesitatingly  forward. 

Day,  meantime,  although  full  blown  and 
radiant  on  the  mountain  summits  around 
us,  was  yet  nebulous  and  uncertain  in  the 
valleys  into  which  we  were  plunging. 
Lights  still  glimmered  in  the  cabins  and 
few  ranch  buildings  which  began  to  indi- 
cate the  thicker  settlements.  And  the 
shadows  were  heaviest  in  a  little  copse, 
where  a  note  from  Judge  Thompson  in  the 
coach  was  handed  up  to  Yuba  Bill,  who  at 
once  slowly  began  to  draw  up  his  horses. 
The  coach  stopped  finally  near  the  junction 
of  a  small  crossroad.  At  the  same  moment 
Miss  Mullins  slipped  down  from  the  vehi- 
cle, and,  with  a  parting  wave  of  her  hand 
to  the  Judge,  who  had  assisted  her  from  the 
steps,  tripped  down  the  crossroad,  and  dis- 
appeared in  its  semi-obscurity.  To  our 


80         An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras. 

surprise  the  stage  waited,  Bill  holding  the 
reins  listlessly  in  his  hands.  Five  minutes 
passed  —  an  eternity  of  expectation,  and, 
as  there  was  that  in  Yuba  Bill's  face  which 
forbade  idle  questioning,  an  aching  void  of 
silence  also !  This  was  at  last  broken  by  a 
strange  voice  from  the  road :  — 

"Goon  — we '11  follow." 

The  coach  started  forward.  Presently 
we  heard  the  sound  of  other  wheels  behind 
us.  We  all  craned  our  necks  backward  to 
get  a  view  of  the  unknown,  but  by  the 
growing  light  we  could  only  see  that  we 
were  followed  at  a  distance  by  a  buggy  with 
two  figures  in  it.  Evidently  Polly  Mullins 
and  her  lover !  We  hoped  that  they  would 
pass  us.  But  the  vehicle,  although  drawn 
by  a  fast  horse,  preserved  its  distance  al- 
ways, and  it  was  plain  that  its  driver  had 
no  desire  to  satisfy  our  curiosity.  The  Ex- 
pressman had  recourse  to  Bill. 

"Is  it  the  man  you  thought  of?"  he 
asked  eagerly. 

"I  reckon,"  said  Bill  briefly. 

"But,"  continued  the  Expressman,  re- 
turning to  his  former  skepticism,  "what  's 
to  keep  them  both  from  levanting  together 
now?" 


An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras.         81 

Bill  jerked  his  hand  towards  the  boot 
with  a  grim  smile. 

"Their  baggage." 

"Oh!  "  said  the  Expressman. 

"Yes,"  continued  Bill.  "  We  '11  hang  on 
to  that  gal's  little  frills  andfixin's  until  this 
yer  job  's  settled,  and  the  ceremony  's  over, 
jest  as  ef  we  waz  her  own  father.  And, 
what's  more,  young  man,"  he  added,  sud- 
denly turning  to  the  Expressman,  "yo?/  9ll 
express  them  trunks  of  hers  through  to 
/Sacramento  with  your  kempany's  labels, 
and  hand  her  the  receipts  and  checks  for 
them,  so  she  can  get  'em  there.  That  '11 
keep  him  outer  temptation  and  the  reach  o' 
the  gang,  until  they  get  away  among  white 
men  and  civilization  again.  When  your 
hoary -headed  ole  grandfather,  or,  to  speak 
plainer,  that  partikler  old  whiskey-soaker 
known  as  Yuba  Bill,  wot  sits  on  this  box," 
he  continued,  with  a  diabolical  wink  at  the 
Expressman,  "waltzes  in  to  pervide  for  a 
young  couple  jest  startin'  in  life,  thar  's 
nothin'  mean  about  his  style,  you  bet.  He 
fills  the  bill  every  time!  Speshul  Provi- 
dences take  a  back  seat  when  he  's  around." 

When  the  station  hotel  and  straggling 
settlement  of  Sugar  Pine,  now  distinct  and 


82          An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras. 

clear  in  the  growing  light,  at  last  rose 
within  rifleshot  on  the  plateau,  the  buggy 
suddenly  darted  swiftly  by  us,  so  swiftly 
that  the  faces  of  the  two  occupants  were 
barely  distinguishable  as  they  passed,  and 
keeping  the  lead  by  a  dozen  lengths,  reached 
the  door  of  the  hotel.  The  young  girl  and 
her  companion  leaped  down  and  vanished 
within  as  we  drew  up.  They  had  evidently 
determined  to  elude  our  curiosity,  and  were 
successful. 

But  the  material  appetites  of  the  passen- 
gers, sharpened  by  the  keen  mountain  air, 
were  more  potent  than  their  curiosity,  and, 
as  the  breakfast-bell  rang  out  at  the  mo- 
ment the  stage  stopped,  a  majority  of  them 
rushed  into  the  dining-room  and  scrambled 
for  places  without  giving  much  heed  to 
the  vanished  couple  or  to  the  Judge  and 
Yuba  Bill,  who  had  disappeared  also.  The 
through  coach  to  Marysville  and  Sacra- 
mento was  likewise  waiting,  for  Sugar  Pine 
was  the  limit  of  Bill's  ministration,  and  the 
coach  which  we  had  just  left  went  no  far- 
ther. In  the  course  of  twenty  minutes, 
however,  there  was  a  slight  and  somewhat 
ceremonious  bustling  in  the  hall  and  on  the 
veranda,  and  Yuba  Bill  and  the  Judge  re- 


An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras.         83 

appeared.  The  latter  was  leading,  with 
some  elaboration  of  manner  and  detail,  the 
shapely  figure  of  Miss  Mullins,  and  Yuba 
Bill  was  accompanying  her  companion  to 
the  buggy.  We  all  rushed  to  the  windows 
to  get  a  good  view  of  the  mysterious 
stranger  and  probable  ex-brigand  whose 
life  was  now  linked  with  our  fair  fellow-pas- 
senger. I  am  afraid,  however,  that  we  all 
participated  in  a  certain  impression  of  dis- 
appointment and  doubt.  Handsome  and 
even  cultivated-looking,  he  assuredly  was  — 
young  and  vigorous  in  appearance.  But 
there  was  a  certain  half -shamed,  half -defiant 
suggestion  in  his  expression,  yet  coupled 
with  a  watchful  lurking  uneasiness  which 
was  not  pleasant  and  hardly  becoming  in  a 
bridegroom  —  and  the  possessor  of  such  a 
bride.  But  the  frank,  joyous,  innocent 
face  of  Polly  Mullins,  resplendent  with  a 
simple,  happy  confidence,  melted  our  hearts 
again,  and  condoned  the  fellow's  shortcom- 
ings. We  waved  our  hands;  I  think  we 
would  have  given  three  rousing  cheers  as 
they  drove  away  if  the  omnipotent  eye  of 
Yuba  Bill  had  not  been  upon  us.  It  was 
well,  for  the  next  moment  we  were  sum- 
moned to  the  presence  of  that  soft-hearted 
autocrat. 


84         An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras. 

We  found  him  alone  with  the  Judge  in 
a  private  sitting-room,  standing  before  a 
table  on  which  there  was  a  decanter  and 
glasses.  As  we  filed  expectantly  into  the 
room  and  the  door  closed  behind  us,  he  cast 
a  glance  of  hesitating  tolerance  over  the 
group. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said  slowly,  "you  was 
all  present  at  the  beginnin'  of  a  little  game 
this  mornin',  and  the  Judge  thar  thinks 
that  you  oughter  be  let  in  at  the  finish.  / 
don't  see  that  it 's  any  of  your  d — d  busi- 
ness —  so  to  speak ;  but  ez  the  Judge  here 
allows  you  're  all  in  the  secret,  I  've  called 
you  in  to  take  a  partin'  drink  to  the  health 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Charley  Byng  —  ez  is  now 
comf 'ably  off  on  their  bridal  tower.  What 
you  know  or  what  you  suspects  of  the  young 
galoot  that 's  married  the  gal  ain't  worth 
shucks  to  anybody,  and  I  wouldn't  give  it 
to  a  yaller  pup  to  play  with,  but  the  Judge 
thinks  you  ought  all  to  promise  right  here 
that  you  '11  keep  it  dark.  That 's  his  opin- 
ion. Ez  far  as  my  opinion  goes,  gen'l'men," 
continued  Bill,  with  greater  blandness  and 
apparent  cordiality,  "I  wanter  simply  re- 
mark, in  a  keerless,  offhand  gin'ral  way, 
that  ef  I  ketch  any  God-forsaken,  lop- 


An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras.         85 

eared,  chuckle-headed  blatherin'  idjet  airin' 
Ms  opinion  " 

"One  moment,  Bill,"  interposed  Judge 
Thompson  with  a  grave  smile  ;  "let  me 
explain.  You  understand,  gentlemen,"  he 
said,  turning  to  us,  "the  singular,  and  I 
may  say  affecting,  situation  which  our  good- 
hearted  friend  here  has  done  so  much  to 
bring  to  what  we  hope  will  be  a  happy  ter- 
mination. I  want  to  give  here,  as  my  pro- 
fessional opinion,  that  there  is  nothing  in 
his  request  which,  in  your  capacity  as  good 
citizens  and  law-abiding  men,  you  may  not 
grant.  I  want  to  tell  you,  also,  that  you 
are  condoning  no  offense  against  the  stat- 
utes; that  there  is  not  a  particle  of  legal 
evidence  before  us  of  the  criminal  antece- 
dents of  Mr.  Charles  Byng,  except  that 
which  has  been  told  you  by  the  innocent 
lips  of  his  betrothed,  which  the  law  of  the 
land  has  now  sealed  forever  in  the  mouth 
of  his  wife,  and  that  our  own  actual  experi- 
ence of  his  acts  have  been  in  the  main  ex- 
culpatory of  any  previous  irregularity  —  if 
not  incompatible  with  it.  Briefly,  no  judge 
would  charge,  no  jury  convict,  on  such  evi- 
dence. When  I  add  that  the  young  girl  is 
of  legal  age,  that  there  is  no  evidence  of 


86          An  Ingenue  of  the  /Sierras. 

any  previous  undue  influence,  but  rather  of 
the  reverse,  on  the  part  of  the  bridegroom, 
and  that  I  was  content,  as  a  magistrate,  to 
perform  the  ceremony,  I  think  you  will  be 
satisfied  to  give  your  promise,  for  the  sake 
of  the  bride,  and  drink  a  happy  life  to  them 
both." 

I  need  not  say  that  we  did  this  cheerfully, 
and  even  extorted  from  Bill  a  grunt  of  sat- 
isfaction. The  majority  of  the  company, 
however,  who  were  going  with  the  through 
coach  to  Sacramento,  then  took  their  leave, 
and,  as  we  accompanied  them  to  the  ve- 
randa, we  could  see  that  Miss  Polly  Mul- 
lins's  trunks  were  already  transferred  to  the 
other  vehicle  under  the  protecting  seals  and 
labels  of  the  all-potent  Express  Company. 
Then  the  whip  cracked,  the  coach  rolled 
away,  and  the  last  traces  of  the  adventurous 
young  couple  disappeared  in  the  hanging 
red  dust  of  its  wheels. 

But  Yuba  Bill's  grim  satisfaction  at  the 
happy  issue  of  the  episode  seemed  to  suffer 
no  abatement.  He  even  exceeded  his  usual 
deliberately  regulated  potations,  and,  stand- 
ing comfortably  with  his  back  to  the  centre 
of  the  now  deserted  barroom,  was  more 
than  usually  loquacious  with  the  Express- 


An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras.          87 

man.  "You  see,"  he  said,  in  bland  remi- 
niscence, "when  your  old  Uncle  Bill  takes 
hold  of  a  job  like  this,  he  puts  it  straight 
through  without  changin'  hosses.  Yet  thar 
was  a  moment,  young  feller,  when  I  thought 
I  was  stompt  !  It  was  when  we  'd  made 
up  our  mind  to  make  that  chap  tell  the 
gal  fust  all  what  he  was!  Ef  she  'd  rared 
or  kicked  in  the  traces,  or  hung  back 
only  ez  much  ez  that,  we  'd  hev  given  him 
jest  five  minits'  law  to  get  up  and  get  and 
leave  her,  and  we  'd  hev  toted  that  gal  and 
her  fixin's  back  to  her  dad  again!  But  she 
jest  gave  a  little  scream  and  start,  and  then 
went  off  inter  hysterics,  right  on  his  buz- 
zum,  laughing  and  cry  in'  and  say  in'  that 
nothin'  should  part  'em.  Gosh!  if  I  didn't 
think  he  woz  more  cut  up  than  she  about  it ; 
a  minit  it  looked  as  ef  he  didn't  allow  to 
marry  her  arter  all,  but  that  passed,  and 
they  was  married  hard  and  fast  —  you  bet ! 
I  reckon  he  's  had  enough  of  stay  in'  out  o' 
nights  to  last  him,  and  ef  the  valley  settle- 
ments hev  n't  got  hold  of  a  very  shining 
member,  at  least  the  foothills  hev  got  shut 
of  one  more  of  the  Ramon  Martinez  gang.'5 
"What's  that  about  the  Ramon  Marti- 
nez gang?  "  said  a  quiet  potential  voice. 


88         An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras. 

Bill  turned  quickly.  It  was  the  voice  of 
the  Divisional  Superintendent  of  the  Ex- 
press Company,  —  a  man  of  eccentric  deter- 
mination of  character,  and  one  of  the  few 
whom  the  autocratic  Bill  recognized  as  an 
equal,  —  who  had  just  entered  the  barroom. 
His  dusty  pongee  cloak  and  soft  hat  indi- 
cated that  he  had  that  morning  arrived  on  a 
round  of  inspection. 

"Don't  care  if  I  do,  Bill,"  he  continued, 
in  response  to  Bill's  invitatory  gesture, 
walking  to  the  bar.  "It 's  a  little  raw  out 
on  the  road.  Well,  what  were  you  saying 
about  Ramon  Martinez  gang?  You  have  n't 
come  across  one  of  'em,  have  you?" 

"No,"  said  Bill,  with  a  slight  blinking 
of  his  eye,  as  he  ostentatiously  lifted  his 
glass  to  the  light. 

"And  you  won't"  added  the  Superin- 
tendent, leisurely  sipping  his  liquor.  "For 
the  fact  is,  the  gang  is  about  played  out. 
Not  from  want  of  a  job  now  and  then,  but 
from  the  difficulty  of  disposing  of  the  re- 
sults of  their  work.  Since  the  new  instruc- 
tions to  the  agents  to  identify  and  trace  all 
dust  and  bullion  offered  to  them  went  into 
force,  you  see,  they  can't  get  rid  of  their 
swag.  All  the  gang  are  spotted  at  the 


An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras.          89 

offices,  and  it  costs  too  much  for  them  to 
pay  a  fence  or  a  middleman  of  any  stand- 
ing. Why,  all  that  flaky  river  gold  they 
took  from  the  Excelsior  Company  can  be 
identified  as  easy  as  if  it  was  stamped  with 
the  company's  mark.  They  can't  melt  it 
down  themselves;  they  can't  get  others  to 
do  it  for  them;  they  can't  ship  it  to  the 
Mint  or  Assay  Offices  in  Marysville  and 
'Frisco,  for  they  won't  take  it  without  our 
certificate  and  seals ;  and  we  don't  take  any 
undeclared  freight  within  the  lines  that 
we  've  drawn  around  their  beat,  except  from 
people  and  agents  known.  Why,  you  know 
that  well  enough,  Jim,"  he  said,  suddenly 
appealing  to  the  Expressman,  "don't  you?  " 

Possibly  the  suddenness  of  the  appeal 
caused  the  Expressman  to  swallow  his  liquor 
the  wrong  way,  for  he  was  overtaken  with  a 
fit  of  coughing,  and  stammered  hastily  as 
he  laid  down  his  glass,  "Yes  —  of  course  — 
certainly." 

"No,  sir,"  resumed  the  Superintendent 
cheerfully,  "they  're  pretty  well  played  out. 
And  the  best  proof  of  it  is  that  they  've 
lately  been  robbing  ordinary  passengers' 
trunks.  There  was  a  freight  wagon  'held 
up '  near  Dow's  Flat  the  other  day,  and  a 


90         An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras. 

lot  of  baggage  gone  through.  I  had  to  go 
down  there  to  look  into  it.  Darned  if  they 
had  n't  lifted  a  lot  o'  woman's  wedding- 
things  from  that  rich  couple  who  got  mar- 
ried the  other  day  out  at  Marysville. 
Looks  as  if  they  were  playing  it  rather  low 
down,  don't  it?  Coming  down  to  hardpan 
and  the  bed  rock  —  eh?  " 

The  Expressman's  face  was  turned  anx- 
iously towards  Bill,  who,  after  a  hurried 
gulp  of  his  remaining  liquor,  still  stood 
staring  at  the  window.  Then  he  slowly 
drew  on  one  of  his  large  gloves.  "Ye 
didn't,"  he  said,  with  a  slow,  drawling,  but 
perfectly  distinct,  articulation,  "happen  to 
know  old  'Skinner  '  Hemmings  when  you 
were  over  there?  " 

"Yes." 

"And  his  daughter?" 

"He  hasn't  got  any." 

"A  sort  o'  mild,  innocent,  guileless  child 
of  nature?"  persisted  Bill,  with  a  yellow 
face,  a  deadly  calm  and  Satanic  delibera- 
tion. 

"No.  I  tell  you  he  hasn't  any  daugh- 
ter. Old  man  Hemmings  is  a  confirmed 
old  bachelor.  He  's  too  mean  to  support 
more  than  one." 


An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras.         91 

"And  you  didn't  happen  to  know  any  o' 
that  gang,  did  ye?"  continued  Bill,  with 
infinite  protraction. 

"Yes.  Knew  'em  all.  There  was  French 
Pete,  Cherokee  Bob,  Kanaka  Joe,  One-eyed 
Stillson,  Softy  Brown,  Spanish  Jack,  and 
two  or  three  Greasers." 

"And  ye  didn't  know  a  man  by  the  name 
of  Charley  Byng?" 

"No,"  returned  the  Superintendent,  with 
a  slight  suggestion  of  weariness  and  a  dis- 
traught glance  towards  the  door. 

"A  dark,  stylish  chap,  with  shifty  black 
eyes  and  a  curled-up  merstache?  "  continued 
Bill,  with  dry,  colorless  persistence. 

"No.  Look  here,  Bill,  I 'm  in  a  little 
bit  of  a  hurry  —  but  I  suppose  you  must 
have  your  little  joke  before  we  part.  Now, 
what  is  your  little  game? " 

"Wot  you  mean?"  demanded  Bill,  with 
sudden  brusqueness. 

"Mean?  Well,  old  man,  you  know  as 
well  as  I  do.  You  're  giving  me  the  very 
description  of  Ramon  Martinez  himself,  ha! 
ha!  No  —  Bill!  you  didn't  play  me  this 
time.  You  're  mighty  spry  and  clever,  but 
you  didn't  catch  on  just  then." 

He  nodded  and  moved  away  with  a  light 


92         An  Ingenue  of  the  Sierras. 

laugh.  Bill  turned  a  stony  face  to  the 
Expressman.  Suddenly  a  gleam  of  mirth 
came  into  his  gloomy  eyes.  He  bent  over 
the  young  man,  and  said  in  a  hoarse,  chuck- 
ling whisper :  — 

"But  I  got  even  after  all!  " 

"How?" 

"He  's  tied  up  to  that  lying  little  she- 
devil,  hard  and  fast! " 


THE  REFORMATION  OF  JAMES 
REDDY. 

I. 

IT  was  a  freshly  furrowed  field,  so  large 
that  the  eye  at  first  scarcely  took  in  its 
magnitude.  The  irregular  surface  of  up- 
turned, oily,  wave-shaped  clods  took  the 
appearance  of  a  vast,  black,  chopping  sea, 
that  reached  from  the  actual  shore  of  San 
Francisco  Bay  to  the  low  hills  of  the  Coast 
Range.  The  sea-breeze  that  blew  chilly 
over  this  bleak  expanse  added  to  that  fancy, 
and  the  line  of  straggling  whitewashed  farm 
buildings,  that  half  way  across  lifted  them- 
selves above  it,  seemed  to  be  placed  on 
an  island  in  its  midst.  Even  the  one  or 
two  huge,  misshapen  agricultural  machines, 
abandoned  in  the  furrows,  bore  an  odd  re- 
semblance to  hulks  or  barges  adrift  upon  its 
waste. 

This  marine  suggestion  was  equally  no- 
ticeable from  the  door  of  one  of  the  farm 
buildings  —  a  long,  detached  wooden  shed 


94     The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

—  into  which  a  number  of  farm  laborers 
were  slowly  filing,  although  one  man  was 
apparently  enough  impressed  by  it  to  linger 
and  gaze  over  that  rigid  sea.  Except  in 
their  rough  dress  and  the  labor-stains  of 
soil  on  their  hands  and  faces,  they  repre- 
sented no  particular  type  or  class.  They 
were  young  and  old,  robust  and  delicate, 
dull  and  intelligent ;  kept  together  only  by 
some  philosophical,  careless,  or  humorous 
acceptance  of  equally  enforced  circumstance 
in  their  labors,  as  convicts  might  have  been. 
For  they  had  been  picked  up  on  the  streets 
and  wharves  of  San  Francisco,  —  discharged 
sailors,  broken-down  miners,  helpless  new- 
comers, unemployed  professional  men,  and 
ruined  traders,  —  to  assist  in  ploughing  and 
planting  certain  broad  leagues  of  rich  allu- 
vial soil  for  a  speculative  Joint  Stock  Com- 
pany, at  a  weekly  wage  that  would  have 
made  an  European  peasant  independent  for 
half  a  year.  Yet  there  was  no  enthusiasm 
in  their  labor,  although  it  was  seldom 
marked  by  absolute  laziness  or  evasion,  and 
was  more  often  hindered  by  ill-regulated 
"spurts"  and  excessive  effort,  as  if  the 
laborer  was  anxious  to  get  through  with  it ; 
for  in  the  few  confidences  they  exchanged 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.     95 

there  was  little  allusion  to  the  present,  and 
they  talked  chiefly  of  what  they  were  going 
to  do  when  their  work  was  over.  They 
were  gregarious  only  at  their  meals  in  one 
of  the  sheds,  or  when  at  night  they  sought 
their  "bunks"  or  berths  together  in  the 
larger  building. 

The  man  who  had  lingered  to  look  at  the 
dreary  prospect  had  a  somewhat  gloomy, 
discontented  face,  whose  sensitive  lines  in- 
dicated a  certain  susceptibility  to  such  im- 
pressions. He  was  further  distinguished 
by  having  also  lingered  longer  with  the 
washing  of  his  hands  and  face  in  the  bat- 
tered tin  basin  on  a  stool  beside  the  door, 
and  by  the  circumstance  that  the  operation 
revealed  the  fact  that  they  were  whiter  than 
those  of  his  companions.  Drying  his  fin- 
gers slowly  on  the  long  roller-towel,  he 
stood  gazing  with  a  kind  of  hard  abstraction 
across  the  darkening  field,  the  strip  of  faded 
colorless  shore,  and  the  chill  gray  sea,  to 
the  dividing  point  of  land  on  the  opposite 
coast,  which  in  the  dying  daylight  was  sil- 
houetted against  the  cold  horizon. 

He  knew  that  around  that  point  and  be- 
hind it  lay  the  fierce,  half -grown,  half -tamed 
city  of  yesterday  that  had  worked  his  ruin. 


96     The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

It  was  scarcely  a  year  ago  that  he  had 
plunged  into  its  wildest  excesses,  —  a  reck- 
less gambler  among  speculators,  a  hopeless 
speculator  among  gamblers,  —  until  the  lit- 
tle fortune  he  had  brought  thither  had  been 
swept  away. 

From  time  to  time  he  had  kept  up  his 
failing  spirit  with  the  feverish  exaltation  of 
dissipation,  until,  awakening  from  a  drunk- 
ard's dream  one  morning,  he  had  found 
himself  on  board  a  steamboat  crossing  the 
bay,  in  company  with  a  gang  of  farm  labor- 
ers with  whom  he  was  hired.  A  bitter 
smile  crossed  his  lips  as  his  eyes  hovered 
over  the  cold,  rugged  fields  before  him. 
Yet  he  knew  that  they  had  saved  him. 
The  unaccustomed  manual  labor  in  the 
open  air,  the  regular  hours,  the  silent, 
heavy,  passionless  nights,  the  plain  but 
wholesome  food,  were  all  slowly  restoring 
his  youth  and  strength  again.  Temptation 
and  passion  had  alike  fled  these  unlovely 
fields  and  grim  employment.  Yet  he  was 
not  grateful.  He  nursed  his  dreary  conva- 
lescence as  he  had  his  previous  dissipation,  as 
part  of  a  wrong  done  him  by  one  for  whose 
sake,  he  was  wont  to  believe,  he  had  sacri- 
ficed himself.  That  person  was  a  woman. 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy      97 

Turning  at  last  from  the  prospect  and  his 
bitter  memories  to  join  his  companions,  he 
found  that  they  had  all  passed  in.  The 
benches  before  the  long  table  on  which  sup- 
per was  spread  were  already  filled,  and  he 
stood  in  hesitation,  looking  down  the  line 
of  silent  and  hungrily  preoccupied  men  on 
either  side.  A  young  girl,  who  was  stand- 
ing near  a  smaller  serving-table,  apparently 
assisting  an  older  woman  in  directing  the 
operation  of  half  a  dozen  Chinese  waiters, 
moved  forward  and  cleared  a  place  for  him 
at  a  side-table,  pushing  before  it  the  only 
chair  in  the  room,  —  the  one  she  had  lately 
vacated.  As  she  placed  some  of  the  dishes 
before  him  with  a  timid  ostentation,  and 
her  large  but  well-shaped  hands  came  sud- 
denly in  contact  with,  and  in  direst  contrast 
to  his  own  whiter  and  more  delicate  ones, 
she  blushed  faintly.  He  lifted  his  eyes  to 
hers. 

He  had  seen  her  half  a  dozen  times  be- 
fore, for  she  was  the  daughter  of  the  ranch 
superintendent,  and  occasionally  assisted 
her  mother  in  this  culinary  supervision  — 
which  did  not,  however,  bring  her  into  any 
familiar  association  with  the  men.  Even 
the  younger  ones,  perhaps  from  over-con- 


98      The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

sciousness  of  their  inferior  position  or  the 
preoccupation  of  their  labor,  never  indulged 
in  any  gallantry  toward  her,  and  he  him- 
self, in  his  revulsion  of  feeling  against  the 
whole  sex,  had  scarcely  noticed  that  she 
was  good-looking.  But  this  nai've  exhibi- 
tion of  preference  could  not  be  overlooked, 
either  by  his  companions,  who  smiled  cyni- 
cally across  the  table,  or  by  himself,  from 
whose  morbid  fancy  it  struck  an  ignoble 
suggestion.  Ah,  well!  the  girl  was  pretty 
—  the  daughter  of  his  employer,  who  rumor 
said  owned  a  controlling  share  in  the  com- 
pany; why  should  he  not  make  this  chance 
preference  lead  to  something,  if  only  to 
ameliorate,  in  ways  like  this,  his  despicable 
position  here.  He  knew  the  value  of  his 
own  good  looks,  his  superior  education,  and 
a  certain  recklessness  which  women  liked ; 
why  should  he  not  profit  by  them  as  well 
as  the  one  woman  who  had  brought  him  to 
this?  He  owed  her  sex  nothing;  if  those 
among  them  who  were  not  bad  were  only 
fools,  there  was  no  reason  why  he  should 
not  deceive  them  as  they  had  him.  There 
was  all  this  small  audacity  and  cynical  pur- 
pose in  his  brown  eyes  as  he  deliberately 
fixed  them  on  hers.  And  I  grieve  to  say 


The,  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.     99 

that  these  abominable  sentiments  seemed 
only  to  impart  to  them  a  certain  attractive 
brilliancy,  and  a  determination  which  the 
undetermining  sex  is  apt  to  admire. 

She  blushed  again,  dropped  her  eyes,  re- 
plied to  his  significant  thanks  with  a  few 
indistinct  words,  and  drew  away  from  the 
table  with  a  sudden  timidity  that  was  half 
confession. 

She  did  not  approach  him  again  during 
the  meal,  but  seemed  to  have  taken  a  sud- 
den interest  in  the  efficiency  of  the  waiters, 
generally,  which  she  had  not  shown  before. 
I  do  not  know  whether  this  was  merely  an 
effort  at  concealment,  or  an  awakened  rec- 
ognition of  her  duty ;  but,  after  the  fashion 
of  her  sex,  —  and  perhaps  in  contrast  to 
his,  —  she  was  kinder  that  evening  to  the 
average  man  on  account  of  him.  He  did 
not,  however,  notice  it;  nor  did  her  absence 
interfere  with  his  now  healthy  appetite ;  he 
finished  his  meal,  and  only  when  he  rose  to 
take  his  hat  from  the  peg  above  him  did  he 
glance  around  the  room.  Their  eyes  met 
again.  As  he  passed  out,  although  it  was 
dark,  he  put  on  his  hat  a  little  more 
smartly. 

The  air  was  clear  and  cold,  but  the  out- 


100     The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

lines  of  the  landscape  had  vanished.  His 
companions,  with  the  instinct  of  tired  ani- 
mals, were  already  making  their  way  in 
knots  of  two  or  three,  or  in  silent  file, 
across  the  intervening  space  between  the 
building  and  their  dormitory.  A  few  had 
already  lit  their  pipes  and  were  walking 
leisurely,  but  the  majority  were  hurrying 
from  the  chill  sea-breeze  to  the  warmth  and 
comfort  of  the  long,  well-lit  room,  lined 
with  blanketed  berths,  and  set  with  plain 
wooden  chairs  and  tables.  The  young  man 
lingered  for  a  moment  on  the  wooden  plat- 
form outside  the  dining-shed,  —  partly  to 
evade  this  only  social  gathering  of  his  fel- 
lows as  they  retired  for  the  night,  and 
partly  attracted  by  a  strange  fascination  to 
the  faint  distant  glow,  beyond  the  point  of 
land,  which  indicated  the  lights  of  San 
Francisco. 

There  was  a  slight  rustle  behind  him! 
It  was  the  young  girl  who,  with  a  white 
woolen  scarf  thrown  over  her  head  and 
shoulders,  had  just  left  the  room.  She 
started  when  she  saw  him,  and  for  an  in- 
stant hesitated. 

"You  are  going  home,  Miss  Wood- 
ridge?  "  he  said  pleasantly. 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    101 

"Yes,"  she  returned,  in  a  faint,  embar- 
rassed voice.  "I  thought  I  'd  run  on  ahead 
of  ma!" 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  accompany  you?" 

"It's  only  a  step,"  she  protested,  indi- 
cating the  light  in  the  window  of  the  super- 
intendent's house,  — the  most  remote  of  the 
group  of  buildings,  yet  scarcely  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  distant. 

"But  it  's  quite  dark,"  he  persisted 
smilingly. 

She  stepped  from  the  platform  to  the 
ground;  he  instantly  followed  and  ranged 
himself  at  a  little  distance  from  her  side. 
She  protested  still  feebly  against  his  "trou- 
bling himself,"  but  in  another  moment  they 
were  walking  on  quietly  together.  Never- 
theless, a  few  paces  from  the  platform  they 
came  upon  the  upheaved  clods  of  the  fresh 
furrows,  and  their  progress  over  them  was 
slow  and  difficult. 

"Shall  I  help  you?  Will  you  take  my 
arm?"  he  said  politely. 

"No,  thank  you,  Mr.  Reddy." 

So!  she  knew  his  name!  He  tried  to 
look  into  her  eyes,  but  the  woolen  scarf 
hid  her  head.  After  all,  there  was  nothing 
strange  in  her  knowing  him ;  she  probably 


102    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

had  the  names  of  the  men  before  her  in  the 
dining-room,  or  on  the  books.  After  a 
pause  he  said :  — 

"You  quite  startled  me.  One  becomes 
such  a  mere  working  machine  here  that 
one  quite  forgets  one's  own  name,  —  espe- 
cially with  the  prefix  of  'Mr.' ' 

"And  if  it  don't  happen  to  be  one's  real 
name  either,"  said  the  girl,  with  an  odd, 
timid  audacity. 

He  looked  up  quickly  —  more  attracted  by 
her  manner  than  her  words  ;  more  amused 
than  angry. 

"But  Reddy  happens  to  be  my  real 
name." 

"Oh!" 

"What  made  you  think  it  was  not?  " 

The  clods  over  which  they  were  clamber- 
ing were  so  uneven  that  sometimes  the 
young  girl  was  mounting  one  at  the  same 
moment  that  Eeddy  was  descending  from 
another.  Her  reply,  half  muffled  in  her 
shawl,  was  delivered  over  his  head.  "Oh, 
because  pa  says  most  of  the  men  here  don't 
give  their  real  names  —  they  don't  care  to 
be  known  afterward.  Ashamed  of  their 
work,  I  reckon." 

His  face  flushed  a  moment,  even  in  the 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    103 

darkness.  He  was  ashamed  of  his  work, 
and  perhaps  a  little  of  the  pitiful  sport  he 
was  beginning.  But  oddly  enough,  the 
aggressive  criticism  only  whetted  his  pur- 
pose. The  girl  was  evidently  quite  able  to 
take  care  of  herself;  why  should  he  be 
over-chivalrous? 

"It  isn't  very  pleasant  to  be  doing  the 
work  of  a  horse,  an  ox,  or  a  machine,  if 
you  can  do  other  things,"  he  said  half  seri- 
ously. 

"But  you  never  used  to  do  anything  at 
all,  did  you?  "  she  asked. 

He  hesitated.  Here  was  a  chance  to 
give  her  an  affecting  history  of  his  former 
exalted  fortune  and  position,  and  perhaps 
even  to  stir  her  evidently  romantic  nature 
with  some  suggestion  of  his  sacrifices  to  one 
of  her  own  sex.  Women  liked  that  sort 
of  thing.  It  aroused  at  once  their  emula- 
tion and  their  condemnation  of  each  other. 
He  seized  the  opportunity,  but  —  for  some 
reason,  he  knew  not  why  —  awkwardly  and 
clumsily,  with  a  simulated  pathos  that  was 
lachrymose,  a  self-assertion  that  was  boast- 
ful, and  a  dramatic  manner  that  was  unreal. 
Suddenly  the  girl  stopped  him. 

"Yes,  I  know  all  that ;  pa  told  me.     Told 


104    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

me  you  'd  been  given  away  by  some  wo- 
man." 

His  face  again  flushed  —  this  time  with 
anger.  The  utter  failure  of  his  story  to  ex- 
cite her  interest,  and  her  perfect  possession 
of  herself  and  the  situation,  —  so  unlike  her 
conduct  a  few  moments  before,  —  made  him 
savagely  silent,  and  he  clambered  on  sul- 
lenly at  her  side.  Presently  she  stopped, 
balancing  herself  with  a  dexterity  he  could 
not  imitate  on  one  of  the  larger  upheaved 
clods,  and  said :  — 

"I  was  thinking  that,  as  you  can't  do 
much  with  those  hands  of  yours,  digging 
and  shoveling,  and  not  much  with  your  feet 
either,  over  ploughed  ground,  you  might  do 
some  inside  work,  that  would  pay  you  bet- 
ter, too.  You  might  help  in  the  dining- 
room,  setting  table  and  washing  up,  help- 
ing ma  and  me  —  though  /don't  do  much 
except  overseeing.  I  could  show  you  what 
to  do  at  first,  and  you  'd  learn  quick 
enough.  If  you  say  'yes,'  I  '11  speak  to  pa 
to-night.  He  '11  do  whatever  I  say." 

The  rage  and  shame  that  filled  his  breast 
choked  even  the  bitter  laugh  that  first  rose 
to  his  lips.  If  he  could  have  turned  on 
his  heel  and  left  her  with  marked  indig- 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    105 

nation,  he  would  have  done  so,  but  they 
were  scarcely  half  way  across  the  field;  his 
stumbling  retreat  would  have  only  appeared 
ridiculous,  and  he  was  by  no  means  sure 
that  she  would  not  have  looked  upon  it  as 
merely  a  confession  of  his  inability  to  keep 
up  with  her.  And  yet  there  was  something 
peculiarly  fascinating  and  tantalizing  in  the 
situation.  She  did  not  see  the  sardonic 
glitter  in  his  eye  as  he  said  brutally :  — 

"Ha!  and  that  would  give  me  the  exqui- 
site pleasure  of  being  near  you." 

She  seemed  a  little  confused,  even  under 
her  enwrappings,  and  in  stepping  down  her 
foot  slipped.  Keddy  instantly  scrambled 
up  to  her  and  caught  her  as  she  was  pitch- 
ing forward  into  the  furrow.  Yet  in  the 
struggle  to  keep  his  own  foothold  he  was 
aware  that  she  was  assisting  him,  and  al- 
though he  had  passed  his  arm  around  her 
waist,  as  if  for  her  better  security,  it  was 
only  through  her  firm  grasp  of  his  wrists 
that  he  regained  his  own  footing.  The 
"cloud"  had  fallen  back  from  her  head  and 
shoulders,  her  heavy  hair  had  brushed  his 
cheek  and  left  its  faint  odor  in  his  nostrils ; 
the  rounded  outline  of  her  figure  had  been 
slightly  drawn  against  his  own.  His  mean 


106    The  Reformation  of  James  It  eddy. 

resentment  wavered ;  her  proposition,  which 
at  first  seemed  only  insulting,  now  took  a 
vague  form  of  satisfaction;  his  ironical 
suggestion  seemed  a  natural  expression. 
"Well,  I  say  'yes '  then,"  he  said,  with  an 
affected  laugh.  "That  is,  if  you  think  I 
can  manage  to  do  the  work;  it  is  not  ex- 
actly in  my  line,  you  know."  Yet  he  some- 
how felt  that  his  laugh  was  feeble  and  un- 
convincing. 

"Oh,  it's  easy  enough,"  said  the  girl 
quietly.  "You've  only  got  to  be  clean  — 
and  that 's  in  your  line,  I  should  say." 

"And  if  I  thought  it  would  please  you," 
he  added,  with  another  attempt  at  gallan- 
try. 

She  did  not  reply,  but  moved  steadily 
on,  he  fancied  a  little  more  rapidly.  They 
were  nearing  the  house  ;  he  felt  he  was 
losing  time  and  opportunity.  The  uneven 
nature  of  the  ground  kept  him  from  walk- 
ing immediately  beside  her,  unless  he  held 
her  hand  or  arm.  Yet  an  odd  timidity  was 
overtaking  him.  Surely  this  was  the  same 
girl  whose  consciousness  and  susceptibility 
were  so  apparent  a  moment  ago  :  yet  her 
speech  had  been  inconsistent,  unsympa- 
thetic, and  coldly  practical.  "It  's  very 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    107 

kind  of  you,"  he  began  again,  scrambling 
up  one  side  of  the  furrow  as  she  descended 
on  the  other,  uto  —  to  —  take  such  an  in- 
terest in  —  in  a  stranger,  and  I  wish  you 
knew  how "  (she  had  mounted  the  ridge 
again,  and  stood  balancing  herself  as  if 
waiting  for  him  to  finish  his  sentence)  "how 
—  how  deeply  —  I  —  I  "  —  She  dropped 
quickly  down  again  with  the  same  move- 
ment of  uneasy  consciousness,  and  he  left 
the  sentence  unfinished.  The  house  was 
now  only  a  few  yards  away  ;  he  hurried 
forward,  but  she  reached  the  wooden  plat- 
form and  stoop  upon  it  first.  He,  however, 
at  the  same  moment  caught  her  hand. 

"I  want  to  thank  you,"  he  said,  "and 
say  good-night." 

"Good-night."  Her  voice  was  indistinct 
again,  and  she  was  trembling.  Embold- 
ened and  reckless,  he  sprang  upon  the  plat- 
form, and  encircling  her  with  one  arm,  with 
his  other  hand  he  unloosed  the  woolen  cloud 
around  her  head  and  bared  her  faintly 
flushed  cheek  and  half -open,  hurriedly 
breathing  lips.  But  the  next  moment  she 
threw  her  head  back  with  a  single  powerful 
movement,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  with 
scarcely  an  effort  cast  him  off  with  both 


108    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

hands,  and  sent  him  toppling  from  the  plat- 
form to  the  ground.  He  scrambled  quickly 
to  his  feet  again,  flushed,  angry,  and  — 
frightened!  Perhaps  she  would  call  her 
father ;  he  would  be  insulted,  or  worse,  — 
laughed  at!  He  had  lost  even  this  pitiful 
chance  of  bettering  his  condition.  But  he 
was  as  relieved  as  he  was  surprised  to  see 
that  she  was  standing  quietly  on  the  edge 
of  the  platform,  apparently  waiting  for  him 
to  rise.  Her  face  was  still  uncovered,  still 
slightly  flushed,  but  bearing  no  trace  of 
either  insult  or  anger.  When  he  stood 
erect  again,  she  looked  at  him  gravely  and 
drew  the  woolen  cloud  over  her  head,  as 
she  said  calmly,  "Then  I'll  tell  pa  you'll 
take  the  place,  and  I  reckon  you  '11  begin 
to-morrow  morning." 


II. 

Angered,  discomfited,  and  physically  and 
morally  beaten,  James .  Eeddy  stumbled 
and  clambered  back  across  the  field.  The 
beam  of  light  that  had  streamed  out  over 
the  dark  field  as  the  door  opened  and  shut 
on  the  girl  left  him  doubly  confused  and 
bewildered.  In  his  dull  anger  and  mortifi- 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    109 

cation,  there  seemed  only  one  course  for 
him  to  pursue.  He  would  demand  his 
wages  in  the  morning,  and  cut  the  whole 
concern.  He  would  go  back  to  San  Fran- 
cisco and  work  there,  where  he  at  least  had 
friends  who  respected  his  station.  Yet,  he 
ought  to  have  refused  the  girl's  offer  before 
she  had  repulsed  him;  his  retreat  now 
meant  nothing,  and  might  even  tempt  her, 
in  her  vulgar  pique,  to  reveal  her  rebuff 
of  him.  He  raised  his  eyes  mechanically, 
and  looked  gloomily  across  the  dark  waste 
and  distant  bay  to  the  opposite  shore.  But 
the  fog  had  already  hidden  the  glow  of  the 
city's  lights,  and,  thickening  around  the 
horizon,  seemed  to  be  slowly  hemming  him 
in  with  the  dreary  rancho.  In  his  present 
frame  of  mind  there  was  a  certain  fateful- 
ness  in  this  that  precluded  his  once  free 
agency,  and  to  that  extent  relieved  and 
absolved  him  of  any  choice.  He  reached 
the  dormitory  and  its  turned-down  lights  in 
a  state  of  tired  and  dull  uncertainty,  for 
which  sleep  seemed  to  offer  the  only  relief. 
He  rolled  himself  in  his  blankets  with  an 
animal  instinct  of  comfort  and  shut  his  eyes, 
but  their  sense  appeared  to  open  upon  Nelly 
Woodridge  as  she  stood  looking  down  upon 


110    The  Reformation  of  James  It  eddy. 

him  from  the  platform.  Even  through  the 
dull  pain  of  his  bruised  susceptibilities  he 
was  conscious  of  a  strange  satisfaction  he 
had  not  felt  before.  He  fell  asleep  at  last, 
to  waken  only  to  the  sunlight  streaming 
through  the  curtainless  windows  on  his  face. 
To  his  surprise  the  long  shed  was  empty 
and  deserted,  except  for  a  single  Chinaman 
who  was  sweeping  the  floor  at  the  farther 
end.  As  Reddy  started  up,  the  man  turned 
and  approached  him  with  a  characteristic, 
vague,  and  patient  smile. 

"All  lity,  John,  you  sleepee  heap!  Mis- 
tel  Woodlidge  he  say  you  no  go  wolkee  field 
allee  same  Mellikan  man.  You  stoppee 
inside  housee  allee  same  me.  Shabbee? 
You  come  to  glubbee  [grub]  now  "  (pointing 
to  the  distant  dining-shed),  "and  then  you 
washee  dish." 

The  full  extent  of  his  new  degradation 
flashed  upon  Reddy  with  this  added  insult 
of  his  brother  menial's  implicit  equality. 
He  understood  it  all.  He  had  been  de- 
tached from  the  field-workers  and  was  to 
come  to  a  later  breakfast,  perhaps  the 
broken  victuals  of  the  first  repast,  and  wash 
the  dishes.  He  remembered  his  new  bar- 
gain. Very  well!  he  would  refuse  posi- 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    Ill 

tively,  take  his  dismissal,  and  leave  that 
morning!  He  hurriedly  dressed  himself, 
and  followed  the  Chinaman  into  the  open 
air. 

The  fog  still  hung  upon  the  distant  bay 
and  hid  the  opposite  point.  But  the  sun 
shone  with  dry  Californian  brilliancy  over 
the  league  -  long  field  around  him,  reveal- 
ing every  detail  of  the  rancho  with  sharp, 
matter  of  fact  directness,  and  without  the 
least  illusion  of  distance  or  romance.  The 
rough,  unplaned,  unpainted  walls  of  the 
dinner-shed  stood  out  clearly  before  him; 
the  half -filled  buckets  of  water  on  the  near 
platform,  and  the  immense  tubs  piled  with 
dirty  dishes.  He  scowled  darkly  as  he 
walked  forward,  conscious,  nevertheless,  of 
the  invigorating  discipline  of  the  morning 
air  and  the  wholesome  whip  in  the  sky 
above  him.  He  entered  sharply  and  ag- 
gressively. To  his  relief,  the  room  at  first 
sight  seemed,  like  the  dormitory  he  had  just 
left,  to  be  empty.  But  a  voice,  clear,  dry, 
direct,  and  practical  as  the  morning  itself, 
spoke  in  his  ear:  "Mornin',  Reddy!  My 
daughter  says  you  're  willin'  to  take  an  in- 
door job,  and  I  reckon,  speakin'  square,  as 
man  to  man,  it 's  more  in  your  line  than 


112    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

what  you've  bin  doin'.  It  mayn't  be 
high-toned  work,  but  work  's  work  anyhow 
you  can  fix  it ;  and  the  only  difference  I  kin 
see  is  in  the  work  that  a  man  does  squarely, 
and  the  Work  that  he  shirks." 

"But,"  said  Reddy  hurriedly,  "there's 
a  mistake.  I  came  here  only  to  " 

"Work  like  the  others,  I  understand. 
Well,  you  see  you  can't.  You  do  your 
best,  I  know.  I  ain't  findin'  fault,  but  it 
ain't  in  your  line.  This  is,  and  the  pay  is 
better." 

"But,"  stammered  Eeddy,  "Miss  Wood- 
ridge  did  n't  understand  " 

"  Yes,  she  did,"  returned  Woodridge 
impatiently,  "and  she  told  me.  She  says 
she  '11  show  you  round  at  first.  You  '11 
catch  on  all  right.  Sit  down  and  eat  your 
breakfast,  and  she  '11  be  along  before  you  're 
through.  Ez  for  me,  I  must  get  up  and 
get.  So  long  ! "  and  before  Reddy  had 
an  opportunity  to  continue  his  protest,  he 
turned  away. 

The  young  man  glanced  vexatiously 
around  him.  A  breakfast  much  better  in 
service  and  quality  than  the  one  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  smoked  on  the  table. 
There  was  no  one  else  in  the  room.  He 


Tlie  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    113 

could  hear  the  voices  of  the  Chinese  waiters 
in  the  kitchen  beyond.  He  was  healthily 
hungry,  and  after  a  moment's  hesitation  sat 
down  and  began  his  meal.  He  could  ex- 
postulate with  her  afterward,  and  withdraw 
his  promise.  He  was  entitled  to  his  break- 
fast, anyway! 

Once  or  twice,  while  thus  engaged,  he 
heard  the  door  of  the  kitchen  open  and  the 
clipping  tread  of  the  Chinese  waiters,  who 
deposited  some  rattling  burden  on  the  adja- 
cent tables,  but  he  thought  it  prudent  not 
to  seem  to  notice  them.  When  he  had  fin- 
ished, the  pleasant,  hesitating,  boyish  con- 
tralto of  Miss  Woodridge  fell  upon  his  ear. 

"  When  you  're  ready,  I  '11  show  you  how 
to  begin  your  work." 

He  turned  quickly,  with  a  flush  of  morti- 
fication at  being  discovered  at  his  repast, 
and  his  anger  returned.  But  as  his  eyes 
fell  upon  her  delicately  colored  but  tranquil 
face,  her  well-shaped  figure,  coquettishly 
and  spotlessly  cuffed,  collared,  and  aproned, 
and  her  clear  blue  but  half -averted  eyes,  he 
again  underwent  a  change.  She  certainly 
was  very  pretty  —  that  most  seductive  pret- 
tiness  which  seemed  to  be  warmed  into  life 
by  her  consciousness  of  himself.  Why 


114    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

should  he  take  her  or  himself  so  seriously? 
Why  not  play  out  the  farce,  and  let  those 
who  would  criticise  him  and  think  his  ac- 
ceptance of  the  work  degrading  understand 
that  it  was  only  an  affair  of  gallantry.  He 
could  afford  to  serve  Woodridge  at  least  a 
few  weeks  for  the  favor  of  this  Rachel! 
Forgetful  of  his  rebuff  of  the  night  before, 
he  fixed  his  brown  eyes  on  hers  with  an 
audacious  levity. 

"  Oh  yes  —  the  work !  Let  us  see  it. 
I  'm  ready  in  name  and  nature  for  anything 
that  Miss  Woodridge  wants  of  me.  I  'm 
just  dying  to  begin." 

His  voice  was  raised  slightly,  with  a  high 
comedy  jauntiness,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Chinese  waiters  who  might  be  lingering  to 
see  the  "Mellican  man"  assume  their  func- 
tions. But  it  failed  in  effect.  With  their 
characteristic  calm  acceptance  of  any  eccen- 
tricity in  a  "foreign  devil,"  they  scarcely 
lifted  their  eyes.  The  young  girl  pointed 
to  a  deep  basket  filled  with  dishes  which 
had  been  placed  on  the  larger  table,  and 
said,  without  looking  at  Reddy :  — 

"You  had  better  begin  by  'checking  '  the 
crockery.  That  is,  counting  the  pieces 
separately  and  then  arranging  them  in  sets 


The,  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    115 

as  they  come  back  from  washing.  There  's 
the  book  to  compare  them  with  and  to  set 
down  what  is  broken,  missing,  or  chipped. 
You  '11  have  a  clean  towel  with  you  to  wipe 
the  pieces  that  have  not  been  cleaned 
enough;  or,  if  they  are  too  dirty,  you  '11 
send  them  back  to  the  kitchen." 

"Couldn't  I  wash  them  myself?"  said 
Eeddy,  continuing  his  ostentatious  levity. 

"Not  yet,"  said  the  girl,  with  grave  hesi- 
tation; "you  'd  break  them." 

She  stood  watching  him,  as  with  affected 
hilarity  he  began  to  take  the  dishes  from 
the  basket.  But  she  noticed  that  in  spite 
of  this  jocular  simulation  his  grasp  was  firm 
and  delicate,  and  that  there  was  no  clatter 
—  which  would  have  affected  her  sensitive 
ear  —  as  he  put  them  down.  She  laid  a 
pencil  and  account  book  beside  him  and 
turned  away. 

"But  you  are  not  going?"  he  said,  in 
genuine  surprise. 

"Yes,"  she  said  quietly,  "until  you  get 
through  'checking.'  Then  I'll  come  back 
and  show  you  what  you  have  to  do  next. 
You  're  getting  on  very  well." 

"But  that  was  because  you  were  with 
me." 


116    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

She  colored  slightly  and,  without  looking 
at  him,  moved  slowly  to  the  door  and  disap- 
peared. 

Reddy  went  back  to  his  work,  disap- 
pointed but  not  discomfited.  He  was  get- 
ting accustomed  to  the  girl's  eccentricities. 
Whether  it  was  the  freshness  of  the  morn- 
ing air  and  sunlight  streaming  in  at  the 
open  windows,  the  unlooked-for  solitude 
and  security  of  the  empty  room,  or  that 
there  was  nothing  really  unpleasant  in  his 
occupation,  he  went  on  cheerfully  "check- 
ing" the  dishes,  narrowly  examining  them 
for  chips  and  cracks,  and  noting  them  in 
the  book.  Again  discovering  that  a  few 
were  imperfectly  cleaned  and  wiped,  he  re- 
paired the  defect  with  cold  water  and  a 
towel  without  the  least  thought  of  the  oper- 
ation being  degrading.  He  had  finished 
his  task  in  half  an  hour;  she  had  not  re- 
turned ;  why  should  he  not  go  on  and  set  the 
table?  As  he  straightened  and  turned  the 
coarse  table-cloth,  he  made  the  discovery 
that  the  long  table  was  really  composed  of 
half  a  dozen  smaller  ones,  and  that  the 
hideous  parallelogram  which  had  always  so 
offended  him  was  merely  the  outcome  of 
carelessness  and  want  of  taste.  Without  a 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    117 

moment's  hesitation  he  set  at  work  to  break 
up  the  monotonous  line  and  rearranged  the 
tables  laterally,  with  small  open  spaces  be- 
tween them.  The  task  was  no  light  one, 
even  for  a  stronger  man,  but  he  persevered 
in  it  with  a  new-found  energy  until  he  had 
changed  the  whole  aspect  of  the  room.  It 
looked  larger,  wider,  and  less  crowded;  its 
hard,  practical,  workhouse -like  formality 
had  disappeared.  He  had  paused  to  sur- 
vey it,  panting  still  with  his  unusual  exer- 
tion, when  a  voice  broke  upon  his  solitude. 

"Well,  Iwanterknow!" 

The  voice  was  not  Nelly's,  but  that  of  her 
mother,  —  a  large-boned,  angular  woman 
of  fifty,  —  who  had  entered  the  room  unper- 
ceived.  The  accents  were  simply  those  of 
surprise,  but  on  James  Reddy's  present 
sensitive  mood,  coupled  with  the  feeling  that 
here  was  a  new  witness  to  his  degradation, 
he  might  have  resented  it;  but  he  detected 
the  handsome,  reserved  figure  of  the  daugh- 
ter a  few  steps  behind  her.  Their  eyes 
met;  wonderful  to  relate,  the  young  girl's 
no  longer  evaded  him,  but  looked  squarely 
into  his  with  a  bright  expression  of  pleasure 
he  had  not  seen  before.  He  checked  him- 
self with  a  sudden  thrill  of  gratification. 


118    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

"  Well,  I  declare,"  continued  Mrs. 
Woodridge;  "is  that  your  idea  —  or  yours, 
Helen?" 

Here  Reddy  simply  pointed  out  the  ad- 
vantages for  serving  afforded  by  the  new 
arrangement  ;  that  all  the  tables  were 
equally  and  quickly  accessible  from  the 
serving-table  and  sideboard,  and  that  it  was 
no  longer  necessary  to  go  the  whole  length 
of  the  room  to  serve  the  upper  table.  He 
tactfully  did  not  refer  to  the  improved  ap- 
pearance of  the  room. 

"Well,  as  long  as  it  ain't  mere  finikin," 
said  the  lady  graciously,  "  and  seems  to 
bring  the  folks  and  their  vittles  nearer  to- 
gether —  we  '11  try  it  to-day.  It  does  look 
kinder  cityfied —  and  I  reckoned  that  was 
all  the  good  it  was.  But  I  calkilated  you 
were  goin'  to  check  the  crockery  this  morn- 
ing." 

"It 's  done,"  said  Reddy,  smilingly  hand- 
ing her  the  account-book. 

Mrs.  Woodridge  glanced  over  it,  and  then 
surveyed  her  new  assistant. 

"And  you  didn't  find  any  plates  that 
were  dirty  and  that  had  to  be  sent  back?  " 

"Yes,  two  or  three,  but  I  cleaned  them 
myself." 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    119 

Mrs.  Woodridge  glanced  at  him  with  a 
look  of  approving  curiosity,  but  his  eyes 
were  just  then  seeking  her  daughter's  .for  a 
more  grateful  sympathy.  All  of  which  the 
good  lady  noted,  and  as  it  apparently  an- 
swered the  unasked  question  in  her  own 
mind,  she  only  uttered  the  single  exclama- 
tion, "Humph!" 

But  the  approbation  he  received  later  at 
dinner,  in  the  satisfaction  of  his  old  com- 
panions with  the  new  arrangement,  had  also 
the  effect  of  diverting  from  him  the  criticism 
he  had  feared  they  would  make  in  finding 
him  installed  as  an  assistant  to  Mrs.  Wood- 
ridge.  On  the  contrary,  they  appeared 
only  to  recognize  in  him  some  especial  and 
superior  faculty  utilized  for  their  comfort, 
and  when  the  superintendent,  equally 
pleased,  said  it  was  "all  Reddy 's  own 
idea,"  no  one  doubted  that  it  was  this  par- 
ticular stroke  of  genius  which  gained  him 
the  obvious  promotion.  If  he  had  still 
thought  of  offering  his  flirtation  with  Nelly 
as  an  excuse,  there  was  now  no  necessity  for 
any.  Having  shown  to  his  employers  his 
capacity  for  the  highest  and  lowest  work, 
they  naturally  preferred  to  use  his  best 
abilities  —  and  he  was  kept  from  any  menial 


120    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

service.  His  accounts  were  so  carefully 
and  intelligently  rendered  that  the  entire 
care  .of  the  building  and  its  appointments 
was  intrusted  to  him.  At  the  end  of  the 
week  Mr.  Woodridge  took  him  aside. 

"I  say,  you  ain't  got  any  job  in  view 
arter  you  finish  up  here,  hev  ye?  " 

Reddy  started.  Scarcely  ten  days  ago 
he  had  a  hundred  projects,  schemes,  and 
speculations,  more  or  less  wild  and  extrava- 
gant, wherewith  he  was  to  avenge  and  re- 
coup himself  in  San  Francisco.  Now  they 
were  gone  —  he  knew  not  where  and  how. 
He  briefly  said  he  had  not. 

"Because,"  continued  Woodridge,  "I've 
got  an  idea  of  startin'  a  hotel  in  the  Oak 
Grove,  just  on  the  slope  back  o'  the  rancho. 
The  company  's  bound  to  make  some  sort  o' 
settlement  there  for  the  regular  hands,  and 
the  place  is  pooty  enough  for  'Frisco  people 
who  want  to  run  over  here  and  get  set  up 
for  a  day  or  two.  Thar  's  plenty  of  wood 
and  water  up  thar,  and  the  company  's  sure 
to  have  a  wharf  down  on  the  shore.  I  '11 
provide  the  capital,  if  you  will  put  in  your 
time.  You  can  sling  in  ez  much  style  as 
you  like  there"  (this  was  an  allusion  to 
Reddy 's  attempt  to  enliven  the  blank  walls 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    121 

with  colored  pictures  from  the  illustrated 
papers  and  green  ceanothus  sprays  from  the 
slope);  "in  fact,  the  more  style  the  better 
for  them  city  folks.  Well,  you  think  it 
over." 

He  did.  But  meantime  he  seemed  to 
make  little  progress  in  his  court  of  the  su- 
perintendent's daughter.  He  tried  to  think 
it  was  because  he  had  allowed  himself  to 
be  diverted  by  his  work,  but  although  she 
always  betrayed  the  same  odd  physical  con- 
sciousness of  his  presence,  it  was  certain 
that  she  never  encouraged  him.  She  gave 
him  the  few  directions  that  his  new  occupa- 
tion still  made  necessary,  and  looked  her 
approval  of  his  success.  But  nothing  more. 
He  was  forced  to  admit  that  this  was  exactly 
what  she  might  have  done  as  the  superin- 
tendent's daughter  to  a  deserving  employee. 
Whereat,  for  a  few  days  he  assumed  an  air 
of  colcf  and  ceremonious  politeness,  until 
perceiving  that,  far  from  piquing  the  girl, 
it  seemed  to  gratify  her,  and  even  to  render 
her  less  sensitive  in  his  company,  he. sulked 
in  good  earnest.  This  proving  ineffective 
also,  —  except  to  produce  a  kind  of  com- 
passionate curiosity,  —  his  former  dull  rage 
returned.  The  planting  of  the  rancho  was 


122    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

nearly  over;  his  service  would  be  ended 
next  week;  he  had  not  yet  given  his  answer 
to  Woodridge's  proposition;  he  would  de- 
cline it  and  cut  the  whole  concern ! 

It  was  a  crisp  Sunday  morning.  The 
breakfast  hour  was  later  on  that  day  to 
allow  the  men  more  time  for  their  holiday, 
which,  however,  they  generally  spent  in 
cards,  gossip,  or  reading  in  their  sleeping- 
sheds.  It  usually  delayed  Reddy 's  work, 
but  as  he  cared  little  for  the  companionship 
of  his  fellows,  it  enabled  him,  without  a 
show  of  unsociability,  to  seclude  himself  in 
the  dining-room.  And  this  morning  he 
was  early  approached  by  his  employer. 

"I  'm  goin'  to  take  the  women  folks  over 
to  Oakdale  to  church,"  said  Mr.  Wood- 
ridge;  "ef  ye  keer  to  join  us  thar  's  a  seat 
in  the  wagon,  and  I  '11  turn  on  a  couple  of 
Chinamen  to  do  the  work  for  you,  just  now; 
and  Nelly  or  the  old  woman  will  give  you  a 
lift  this  afternoon  with  the  counting  up." 

Reddy  felt  instinctively  that  the  invita- 
tion had  been  instigated  by  the  young  girl. 
A  week  before  he  would  have  rejoiced  at  it; 
a  month  ago  he  would  have  accepted  it  if 
only  as  a  relief  to  his  degraded  position, 
but  in  the  pique  of  this  new  passion  he 


The  Reformation  of  James  Keddy.    123 

almost  rudely  declined  it.  An  hour  later 
he  saw  Nelly,  becomingly  and  even  taste- 
fully dressed, — with  the  American  girl's 
triumphant  superiority  to  her  condition  and 
surroundings,  —  ride  past  in  her  father's 
smart  "carryall."  He  was  startled  to  see 
that  she  looked  so  like  a  lady.  Then,  with 
a  new  and  jealous  inconsistency,  significant 
of  the  progress  of  his  passion,  he  resolved 
to  go  to  church  too.  She  should  see  that 
he  was  not  going  to  remain  behind  like  a 
mere  slave.  He  remembered  that  he  had 
still  certain  remnants  of  his  past  finery  in 
his  trunk;  he  would  array  himself  in  them, 
walk  to  Oakdale,  and  make  one  of  the 
congregation.  He  managed  to  change  his 
clothes  without  attracting  the  attention  of 
his  fellows,  and  set  out. 

The  air  was  pure  but  keen,  with  none  of 
the  languor  of  spring  in  its  breath,  although 
a  few  flowers  were  beginning  to  star  the 
weedy  wagon -tracked  lane,  and  there  was 
an  awakening  spice  in  the  wayside  southern- 
wood and  myrtle.  He  felt  invigorated, 
although  it  seemed  only  to  whet  his  jealous 
pique.  He  hurried  on  without  even  glan- 
cing toward  the  distant  coast-line  of  San 
Francisco  or  even  thinking  of  it.  The  bit- 


124    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

ter  memories  of  the  past  had  been  obliter- 
ated by  the  bitterness  of  the  present.  He 
no  longer  thought  of  "that  woman;"  even 
when  he  had  threatened  to  himself  to  return 
to  San  Francisco,  he  was  vaguely  conscious 
that  it  was  not  she  who  was  again  drawing 
him  there,  but  Nelly  who  was  driving  him 
away. 

The  service  was  nearly  over  when  he 
arrived  at  the  chilly  little  corrugated-zinc 
church  at  Oakdale,  but  he  slipped  into 
one  of  the  back  seats.  A  few  worshipers 
turned  round  to  look  at  him.  Among  them 
were  the  daughters  of  a  neighboring  miller, 
who  were  slightly  exercised  over  the  unusual 
advent  of  a  good-looking  stranger  with  cer- 
tain exterior  signs  of  elegance.  Their  ex- 
citement was  communicated  by  some  mys- 
terious instinct  to  their  neighbor,  Nelly 
Woodridge.  She  also  turned  and  caught 
his  eye.  But  to  all  appearances  she  not 
only  showed  no  signs  of  her  usual  agitation 
at  his  presence,  but  did  not  seem  to  even 
recognize  him.  In  the  acerbity  of  his  pique 
he  was  for  a  moment  gratified*  at  what  he 
believed  to  be  the  expression  of  her  wounded 
pride,  but  his  uneasiness  quickly  returned, 
and  at  the  conclusion  of  the  service  he 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    125 

slipped  out  of  the  church  with  one  or  two  of 
the  more  restless  in  the  congregation.  As  he 
passed  through  the  aisle  he  heard  the  escort 
of  the  miller's  daughters,  in  response  to  a 
whispered  inquiry,  say  distinctly:  "Only 
the  head  -  waiter  over  at  the  company's 
rancho."  Whatever  hesitating  idea  Reddy 
might  have  had  of  waiting  at  the  church 
door  for  the  appearance  of  Nelly  vanished 
before  the  brutal  truth.  His  brow  dark- 
ened, and  with  flushed  cheeks  he  turned  his 
back  upon  the  building  and  plunged  into 
the  woods.  This  time  there  was  no  hesita- 
tion in  his  resolve;  he  would  leave  the 
rancho  at  the  expiration  of  his  engage- 
ment. Even  in  a  higher  occupation  he  felt 
he  could  never  live  down  his  reputation 
there. 

In  his  morose  abstraction  he  did  not  know 
how  long  or  how  aimlessly  he  had  wan- 
dered among  the  mossy  live-oaks,  his  head 
and  shoulders  often  imperiled  by  the  down- 
curving  of  some  huge  knotted  limb;  his 
feet  straying  blindly  from  the  faint  track 
over  the  thickly  matted  carpet  of  chickweed 
which  hid  their  roots.  But  it  was  nearly 
an  hour  before  he  emerged  upon  a  wide, 
open,  wooded  slope,  and,  from  the  distant 


126    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

view  of  field  and  shore,  knew  that  he  was 
at  Oak  Grove,  the  site  of  Woodridge's  pro- 
jected hotel.  And  there,  surely,  at  a  little 
distance,  was  the  Woodridges'  wagon  and 
team  tied  up  to  a  sapling,  while  the  super- 
intendent and  his  wife  were  slowly  climbing 
the  slope,  and  apparently  examining  the 
prospect.  Without  waiting  to  see  if  Nelly 
was  with  them,  Reddy  instantly  turned  to 
avoid  meeting  them.  But  he  had  not  pro- 
ceeded a  hundred  yards  before  he  came 
upon  that  young  lady,  who  had  evidently 
strayed  from  the  party,  and  who  was  now 
unconsciously  advancing  toward  him.  A 
rencontre  was  inevitable. 

She  started  slightly,  and  then  stopped, 
with  all  her  old  agitation  and  embarrass- 
ment. But,  to  his  own  surprise,  he  was 
also  embarrassed  and  even  tongue-tied. 

She  spoke  first. 

"You  were  at  church.  I  didn't  quite 
know  you  in  —  in  —  these  clothes." 

In  her  own  finery  she  had  undergone 
such  a  change  to  Reddy 's  consciousness  that 
he,  for  the  first  time  in  their  acquaintance, 
now  addressed  her  as  on  his  own  level,  and 
as  if  she  had  no  understanding  of  his  own 
feelings. 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    127 

"  Ohj"  he  said,  with  easy  bitterness, 
"others  did,  if  you  did  not.  They  all  de- 
tected the  'head-waiter '  at  the  Union  Com- 
pany's rancho.  Even  if  I  had  accepted 
your  kindness  in  offering  me  a  seat  in  your 
wagon  it  would  have  made  no  difference." 
He  was  glad  to  put  this  construction  on  his 
previous  refusal,  for  in  the  new  relations 
which  seemed  to  be  established  by  their 
Sunday  clothes  he  was  obliged  to  soften  the 
churlishness  of  that  refusal  also. 

"I  don't  think  you'd  look  nice  setting 
the  table  in  kid  gloves,"  she  said,  glancing 
quickly  at  his  finery  as  if  accepting  it  as 
the  real  issue;  "but  you  can  wear  what  you 
like  at  other  times.  /  never  found  fault 
with  your  working  clothes." 

There  was  such  a  pleasant  suggestion  in 
her  emphasis  that  his  ill-humor  softened. 
Her  eyes  wandered  over  the  opposite  grove, 
where  her  unconscious  parents  had  just  dis- 
appeared. 

"Papa  's  very  keen  about  the  hotel,"  she 
continued,  "and  is  going  to  have  the  work- 
men break  ground  to-morrow.  He  says 
he  '11  have  it  up  in  two  months  and  ready 
to  open,  if  he  has  to  make  the  men  work 
double  time.  When  you  're  manager,  you 
won't  mind  what  folks  say." 


128    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

There  was  no  excuse  for  his  further  hesi- 
tation. He  must  speak  out,  but  he  did  it 
in  a  half-hearted  way. 

"But  if  I  simply  go  away  —  without 
being  manager  —  I  won't  hear  their  criti- 
cism either." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  said  quickly. 

"  I ' ve  —  I ' ve  been  thinking  of  —  of  go- 
ing back  to  San  Francisco,"  he  stammered 
awkwardly. 

A  slight  flush  of  contemptuous  indigna- 
tion passed  over  her  face,  and  gave  it  a 
strength  and  expression  he  had  never  seen 
there  before.  "  Oh,  you  ' ve  not  reformed 
yet,  then?"  she  said,  under  her  scornful 
lashes. 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  he  said,  flush- 
ing. 

"Father  ought  to  have  told  you,"  she 
went  on  dryly,  "that  that  woman  has  gone 
off  to  the  Springs  with  her  husband,  and 
you  won't  see  her  at  San  Francisco." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  —  and 
your  father  seems  to  take  an  unwarrantable 
interest  in  my  affairs,"  said  Reddy,  with  an 
anger  that  he  was  conscious,  however,  was 
half  simulated. 

"No  more  than  he  ought  to,  if  he  expects 


The  Reformation  of  James  It  eddy.    129 

to  trust  you  with  all  his  affairs,"  said  the 
girl  shortly;  "but  you  had  better  tell  him 
you  have  changed  your  mind  at  once,  be- 
fore he  makes  any  further  calculations  on 
your  staying.  He  's  just  over  the  hill  there, 
with  mother." 

She  turned  away  coldly  as  she  spoke,  but 
moved  slowly  and  in  the  direction  of  the 
hill,  although  she  took  a  less  direct  trail 
than  the  one  she  had  pointed  to  him.  But 
he  followed  her,  albeit  still  embarrassedly, 
and  with  that  new  sense  of  respect  which 
had  checked  his  former  surliness.  There 
was  her  strong,  healthy,  well-developed 
figure  moving  before  him,  but  the  modish 
gray  dress  seemed  to  give  its  pronounced 
outlines  something  of  the  dignity  of  a  god- 
dess. Even  the  firm  hands  had  the  distin- 
guishment  of  character. 

"  You  understand,"  he  said  apologeti- 
cally, "  that  I  mean  no  discourtesy  to  your 
father  or  his  offer.  And  "  —  he  hesitated 
—  "  neither  is  my  reason  what  you  would 
infer." 

"Then  what  is  it?  "  she  asked,  turning  to 
him  abruptly.  "You  know  you  have  no 
other  place  when  you  leave  here,  nor  any 
chance  as  good  as  the  one  father  offers  you. 


130    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

You  are  not  fit  for  any  other  work,  and  you 
know  it.  You  have  no  money  to  speculate 
with,  nor  can  you  get  any.  If  you  could, 
you  would  have  never  stayed  here." 

He  could  not  evade  the  appalling  truth- 
fulness of  her  clear  eyes.  He  knew  it  was 
no  use  to  lie  to  her;  she  had  evidently  thor- 
oughly informed  herself  regarding  his  past ; 
more  than  that,  she  seemed  to  read  his  pres- 
ent thoughts.  But  not  all  of  them!  No! 
he  could  startle  her  still!  It  was  desper- 
ate, but  he  had  nothing  now  to  lose.  And 
she  liked  the  truth,  —  she  should  have  it  I 

"You  are  right,"  he  said  shortly;  "these 
are  not  my  reasons." 

"Then  what  reason  have  you?  " 

"You!" 

"Me?"  she  repeated  incredulously,  yet 
with  a  rising  color. 

"Yes,  you!  I  cannot  stay  here,  and 
have  you  look  down  upon  me." 

"I  don't  look  down  on  you,"  she  said 
simply,  yet  without  the  haste  of  repelling 
an  unjust  accusation.  "Why  should  I? 
Mother  and  I  have  done  the  same  work  that 
you  are  doing,  —  if  that 's  what  you  mean  ; 
and  father,  who  is  a  man  like  yourself, 
helped  us  at  first,  until  he  could  do  other 


The  Reformation  of  James  Eeddy.    131 

things  better."  She  paused.  "Perhaps 
you  think  so  because  you  looked  down  on 
us  when  you  first  came  here." 

"But  I  didn't,"  said  Reddy  quickly. 

"You  did,"  said  the  young  girl  quietly. 
"  That 's  why  you  acted  toward  me  as  you 
did  the  night  you  walked  home  with  me. 
You  would  not  have  behaved  in  that  way  to 
any  San  Francisco  young  lady  —  and  I  'm 
not  one  of  your  —  fast  —  married  women." 

Reddy  felt  the  hot  blood  mount  to  his 
cheek,  and  looked  away.  "I  was  foolish 
and  rude  —  and  I  think  you  punished  me  at 
the  time,"  he  stammered.  "But  you  see  I 
was  right  in  saying  you  looked  down  on 
me,"  he  concluded  triumphantly. 

This  was  at  best  a  feeble  sequitur,  but 
the  argument  of  the  affections  is  not  always 
logical.  And  it  had  its  effect  on  the  girl. 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  that"  she  said. 
"It 's  that  you  don't  know  your  own  mind." 

"If  I  said  that  I  would  stay  and  accept 
your  father's  offer,  would  you  think  that  I 
did?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"I  should  wait  and  see  what  you  actually 
did  do,"  she  replied. 

"  But  if  I  stayed  —  and  —  and  —  if  I  told 
you  that  I  stayed  on  your  account  —  to  be 


132    The,  Reformation  of  James  It  eddy. 

with  you  and  near  you  only  —  would  you 
think  that  a  proof?"  He  spoke  hesitat- 
ingly, for  his  lips  were  dry  with  a  nervous- 
ness he  had  not  known  before. 

"I  might,  if  you  told  father  you  expected 
to  be  engaged  on  those  terms.  For  it  con- 
cerns him  as  much  as  me.  And  he  engages 
you,  and  not  I.  Otherwise  I  'd  think  it 
was  only  your  talk." 

Eeddy  looked  at  her  in  astonishment. 
There  was  not  the  slightest  trace  of  coyness, 
coquetry,  or  even  raillery  in  her  clear,  hon- 
est eyes,  and  yet  it  would  seem  as  if  she 
had  taken  his  proposition  in  its  fullest  sense 
as  a  matrimonial  declaration,  and  actually 
referred  him  to  her  father.  He  was  pleased, 
frightened,  and  utterly  unprepared. 

"But  what  would  you  say,  Nelly?"  He 
drew  closer  to  her  and  held  out  both  his 
hands.  But  she  retreated  a  step  and  slipped 
her  own  behind  her. 

"Better  see  what  father  says  first,"  she 
said  quietly.  "You  may  change  your  mind 
again  and  go  back  to  San  Francisco." 

He  was  confused,  and  reddened  again. 
But  he  had  become  accustomed  to  her  ways ; 
rather,  perhaps,  he  had  begun  to  recognize 
the  quaint  justice  that  underlaid  them,  or, 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    133 

possibly,  some  better  self  of  his  own,  that 
had  been  buried  under  bitterness  and  sloth 
and  struggled  into  life.  "  But  whatever 
he  says,"  he  returned  eagerly,  "cannot  alter 
my  feelings  to  you.  It  can  only  alter  my 
position  here,  and  you  say  you  are  above 
being  influenced  by  that.  Tell  me,  Nelly 
—  dear  Nelly !  have  you  nothing  to  say  to 
me,  as  I  am,  or  is  it  only  to  your  father's 
manager  that  you  would  speak  ? "  His 
voice  had  an  unmistakable  ring  of  sincerity 
in  it,  and  even  startled  him  —  half  rascal  as 
he  was! 

The  young  girl's  clear,  scrutinizing  eyes 
softened;  her  red  resolute  lips  trembled 
slightly  and  then  parted,  the  upper  one 
hovering  a  little  to  one  side  over  her  white 
teeth.  It  was  Nelly's  own  peculiar  smile, 
and  its  serious  piquancy  always  thrilled 
him.  But  she  drew  a  little  farther  back 
from  his  brightening  eyes,  her  hands  still 
curled  behind  her,  and  said,  with  the  faint- 
est coquettish  toss  of  her  head  toward  the 
hill :  "  If  you  want  to  see  father,  you  'd  bet- 
ter hurry  up." 

With  a  sudden  determination  as  new 
to  him  as  it  was  incomprehensible,  Reddy 
turned  from  her  and  struck  forward  in  the 


134    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

direction  of  the  hill.  He  was  not  quite 
sure  what  he  was  going  for.  Yet  that  he, 
who  had  only  a  moment  before  fully  deter- 
mined to  leave  the  rancho  and  her,  was 
now  going  to  her  father  to  demand  her  hand 
as  a  contingency  of  his  remain  ing  did  not 
strike  him  as  so  extravagant  and  unexpected 
a  denouement  as  it  was  a  difficult  one.  He 
was  only  concerned  how,  and  in  what  way, 
he  should  approach  him.  In  a  moment  of 
embarrassment  he  hesitated,  turned,  and 
looked  behind  him. 

She  was  standing  where  he  had  left  her, 
gazing  after  him,  leaning  forward  with  her 
hands  still  held  behind  her.  Suddenly,  as 
with  an  inspiration,  she  raised  them  both, 
carried  them  impetuously  to  her  lips,  blew 
him  a  dozen  riotous  kisses,  and  then,  lower- 
ing her  head  like  a  colt,  whisked  her  skirt 
behind  her,  and  vanished  in  the  cover. 

III. 

It  was  only  May,  but  the  freshness  of 
early  summer  already  clothed  the  great 
fields  of  the  rancho.  The  old  resemblance 
to  a  sea  was  still  there,  more  accented,  per- 
haps, by  the  undulations  of  bluish-green 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    135 

grain  that  rolled  from  the  actual  shore-line 
to  the  foothills.  The  farm  buildings  were 
half  submerged  in  this  glowing  tide  of  color 
and  lost  their  uncouth  angularity  with  their 
hidden  rude  foundations.  The  same  sea- 
breeze  blew  chilly  and  steadily  from  the 
bay,  yet  softened  and  subdued  by  the  fresh 
odors  of  leaf  and  flower.  The  outlying 
fringe  of  oaks  were  starred  through  their 
underbrush  with  anemones  and  dog-roses; 
there  were  lupines  growing  rankly  in  the 
open  spaces,  and  along  the  gentle  slopes  of 
Oak  Grove  daisies  were  already  scattered. 
And,  as  if  it  were  part  of  this  vernal  efflores- 
cence, the  eminence  itself  was  crowned  with 
that  latest  flower  of  progress  and  improve- 
ment, —  the  new  Oak  Grove  Hotel ! 

Long,  low,  dazzling  with  white  colon- 
nades, verandas,  and  balconies  which  re- 
tained, however,  enough  of  the  dampness  of 
recent  creation  to  make  them  too  cool  for 
loungers,  except  at  high  noon,  the  hotel 
nevertheless  had  the  charms  of  freshness, 
youth,  and  cleanliness.  Reddy's  fastidious 
neatness  showed  itself  in  all  the .  appoint- 
ments, from  the  mirrored  and  marbled  bar- 
room, gilded  parlors,  and  snowy  dining- 
room,  to  the  chintz  and  maple  furnishing  of 


136    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

the  bedrooms  above.  Reddy's  taste,  too, 
had  selected  the  pretty  site;  his  good  for- 
tune had  afterward  discovered  in  an  adjoin- 
ing thicket  a  spring  of  blandly  therapeutic 
qualities.  A.  complaisant  medical  faculty 
of  San  Francisco  attested  to  its  merits;  a 
sympathetic  press  advertised  the  excellence 
of  the  hotel ;  a  novelty-seeking,  fashionable 
circle  —  as  yet  without  laws  and  blindly 
imitative  —  found  the  new  hotel  an  admira- 
ble variation  to  the  vulgar  ordinary  "across 
the  bay  "  excursion,  and  an  accepted  excuse 
for  a  novel  social  dissipation.  A  number 
of  distinguished  people  had  already  visited 
it;  certain  exclusive  families  had  secured 
the  best  rooms ;  there  were  a  score  of  pretty 
women  to  be  seen  in  its  parlors;  there  had 
already  been  a  slight  scandal.  Nothing 
seemed  wanting  to  insure  its  success. 

Reddy  was  passing  through  the  little 
wood  where  four  months  before  he  had 
parted  from  Nelly  Woodridge  to  learn  his 
fate  from  her  father.  He  remembered  that 
interview  to  which  Nelly's  wafted  kiss  had 
inspired  him.  He  recalled  to-day,  as  he 
had  many  times  before,  the  singular  com- 
placency with  which  Mr.  Woodridge  had 
received  his  suit,  as  if  it  were  a  slight  and 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    137 

unimportant  detail  of  the  business  in  hand, 
and  how  he  had  told  him  that  Nelly  and 
her  mother  were  going  to  the  "  States  "  for 
a  three  months'  visit,  but  that  after  her  re- 
turn, if  they  were  both  "still .agreed,"  he, 
Woodridge,  would  make  no  objection.  He 
remembered  the  slight  shock  which  this  an- 
nouncement of  Nelly's  separation  from  him 
during  his  probationary  labors  had  given 
him,  and  his  sudden  suspicion  that  he  had 
been  partly  tricked  of  his  preliminary  intent 
to  secure  her  company  to  solace  him.  But 
he  had  later  satisfied  himself  that  she  knew 
nothing  of  her  father's  intentions  at  the 
time,  and  he  was  fain  to  content  himself 
with  a  walk  through  the  fields  at  her  side 
the  day  she  departed,  and  a  single  kiss  — 
which  left  him  cold.  And  now  in  a  few 
days  she  would  return  to  witness  the  suc- 
cessful fufillmeiit  of  his  labors,  and  —  re- 
ward him ! 

It  was  certainly  a  complacent  prospect. 
He  could  look  forward  to  a  sensible,  pros- 
perous, respectable  future.  He  had  won 
back  his  good  name,  his  fortune,  and  posi- 
tion, —  not  perhaps  exactly  in  the  way  he 
had  expected,  —  and  he  had  stilled  the  wan- 
ton, foolish  cravings  of  his  passionate  nature 


138    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

in  the  calm,  virginal  love  of  an  honest, 
handsome  girl  who  would  make  him  a  prac- 
tical helpmeet,  and  a  comfortable,  trust- 
worthy wife.  He  ought  to  be  very  happy. 
He  had  never  known  such  perfect  health 
before;  he  had  lost  his  reckless  habits;  his 
handsome,  nervous  face  had  grown  more 
placid  and  contented;  his  long  curls  had 
been  conventionally  clipped;  he  had  gained 
flesh  unmistakably,  and  the  lower  buttons 
of  the  slim  waistcoat  he  had  worn  to  church 
that  memorable  Sunday  were  too  tight  for 
comfort  or  looks.  He  was  happy;  yet  as 
he  glanced  over  the  material  spring  land- 
scape, full  of  practical  health,  blossom,  and 
promise  of  fruition,  it  struck  him  that  the 
breeze  that  blew  over  it  was  chilly,  even  if 
healthful;  and  he  shivered  slightly. 

He  reached  the  hotel,  entered  the  office, 
glanced  at  the  register,  and  passed  through 
into  his  private  room.  He  had  been  away 
for  two  days,  and  noticed  with  gratification 
that  the  influx  of  visitors  was  still  increas- 
ing. His  clerk  followed  into  the  room. 

"There  's  a  lady  in  56  who  wanted  to  see 
you  when  you  returned.  She  asked  partic- 
ularly for  the  manager." 

"Who  is  she?" 


The  Reformation  of  James  Heddy.    139 

"Don't  know.  It's  a  Mrs.  Merrydew, 
from  Sacramento.  Expecting  her  husband 
on  the  next  steamer." 

"Humph!  You  '11  have  to  be  rather 
careful  about  these  solitary  married  women. 
We  don't  want  another  scandal,  you  know." 

"  She  asked  for  you  by  name,  sir,  and  I 
thought  you  might  know  her,"  returned  the 
clerk. 

"Very  well.     I '11  go  up." 

He  sent  a  waiter  ahead  to  announce  him, 
and  leisurely  mounted  the  stairs.  No.  56 
was  the  sitting-room  of  a  private  suite  on 
the  first  floor.  The  waiter  was  holding  the 
door  open.  As  he  approached  it  a  faint 
perfume  from  the  interior  made  him  turn 
pale.  But  he  recovered  his  presence  of 
mind  sufficiently  to  close  the  door  sharply 
upon  the  waiter  behind  him. 

"Jim,"  said  a  voice  which  thrilled  him. 

He  looked  up  and  beheld  what  any  astute 
reader  of  romance  will  have  already  sus- 
pected—  the  woman  to  whom  he  believed 
he  owed  his  ruin  in  San  Francisco.  She 
was  as  beautiful  and  alluring  as  ever,  albeit 
she  was  thinner  and  more  spiritual  than 
he  had  ever  seen  her.  She  was  tastefully 
dressed,  as  she  had  always  been,  a  certain 


140    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

style  of  languorous  silken  deshabille  which 
she  was  wont  to  affect  in  better  health  now 
became  her  paler  cheek  and  feverishly  bril- 
liant eyes.  There  was  the  same  opulence 
of  lace  and  ornament,  and,  whether  by  acci- 
dent or  design,  clasped  around  the  slight 
wrist  of  her  extended  hand  was  a  bracelet 
which  he  remembered  had  swept  away  the 
last  dregs  of  his  fortune. 

He  took  her  hand  mechanically,  yet 
knowing  whatever  rage  was  in  his  heart  he 
had  not  the  strength  to  refuse  it. 

"They  told  me  it  was  Mrs.  Merrydew," 
he  stammered. 

"That  was  my  mother's  name,"  she  said, 
with  a  little  laugh.  "  I  thought  you  knew 
it.  But  perhaps  you  didn't.  When  I  got 
my  divorce  from  Dick  —  you  didn't  know- 
that  either,  I  suppose;  it's  three  months 
ago,  —  I  did  n't  care  to  take  my  maiden 
name  again;  too  many  people  remembered 
it.  So  after  the  decree  was  made  I  called 
myself  Mrs.  Merrydew.  You  had  disap- 
peared. They  said  you  had  gone  East." 

"But  the  clerk  says  you  are  expecting 
your  husband  on  the  steamer.  What  does 
this  mean?  Why  did  you  tell  him  that?" 
He  had  so  far  collected  himself  that  there 
was  a  ring  of  inquisition  in  his  voice. 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    141 

"Oh,  I  had  to  give  him  some  kind  of 
reason  for  my  being  alone  when  I  did  not 
find  you  as  I  expected,"  she  said  half 
wearily.  Then  a  change  came  over  her 
tired  face ;  a  smile  of  mingled  audacity  and 
tentative  coquetry  lit  up  the  small  features. 
"Perhaps  it  is  true;  perhaps  I  may  have 
a  husband  coming  on  the  steamer  —  that 
depends.  Sit  down,  Jim." 

She  let  his  hand  drop,  and  pointed  to  an 
armchair  from  which  she  had  just  risen, 
and  sank  down  herself  in  a  corner  of  the 
sofa,  her  thin  fingers  playing  with  and 
drawing  themselves  through  the  tassels  of 
the  cushion. 

"You  see,  Jim,  as  soon  as  I  was  free, 
Louis  Sylvester  —  you  remember  Louis 
Sylvester?  —  wanted  to  marry  me,  and  even 
thought  that  he  was  the  cause  of-  Dick's 
divorcing  me.  He  actually  went  East  to 
settle  up  some  property  he  had  left  him 
there,  and  he  's  coming  on  the  steamer." 

"Louis  Sylvester!"  repeated  Reddy, 
staring  at  her.  "Why,  he  was  a  bigger 
fool  than  I  was,  and  a  worse  man ! "  he 
added  bitterly. 

"I  believe  he  was,"  said  the  lady,  smil- 
ing, "and  I  think  he  still  is.  But,"  she 


142    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

added,  glancing  at  Reddy  under  her  light 
fringed  lids,  "you  —  you're  regularly  re- 
formed, aren't  you?  You're  stouter,  too, 
and  altogether  more  solid  and  commercial 
looking.  Yet  who  'd  have  thought  of  your 
keeping  a  hotel  or  ever  doing  anything  but 
speculate  in  wild-cat  or  play  at  draw  poker. 
How  did  you  drift  into  it  ?  Come,  tell  me ! 
I  'm  not  Mrs.  Sylvester  just  yet,  and  maybe 
I  might  like  to  go  into  the  business  too. 
You  don't  want  a  partner,  do  you?" 

Her  manner  was  light  and  irresponsible, 
or  rather  it  suggested  a  childlike  putting  of 
all  responsibility  for  her  actions  upon  oth- 
ers, which  he  remembered  now  too  well. 
Perhaps  it  was  this  which  kept  him  from 
observing  that  the  corners  of  her  smiling 
lips,  however,  twitched  slightly,  and  that 
her  fingers,  twisting  the  threads  of  the  tas- 
sel, were  occasionally  stiffened  nervously. 
For  he  burst  out:  Oh  yes;  he  had  drifted 
into  it  when  it  was  a  toss  up  if  it  wasn't 
his  body  instead  that  would  be  found  drift- 
ing out  to  sea  from  the  first  wharf  of  San 
Francisco.  Yes,  he  had  been  a  common 
laborer,  —  a  farm  hand,  in  those  fields  she 
had  passed,  — a  waiter  in  the  farm  kitchen, 
and  but  for  luck  he  might  be  taking  her 


The,  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    143 

orders  now  in  this  very  hotel.  It  was  not 
her  fault  if  he  was  not  in  the  gutter. 

She  raised  her  thin  hand  with  a  tired 
gesture  as  if  to  ward  off  the  onset  of  his 
words.  "The  same  old  Jim,"  she  repeated; 
"and  yet  I  thought  you  had  forgotten  all 
that  now,  and  become  calmer  and  more  sen- 
sible since  you  had  taken  flesh  and  grown 
so  matter  of  fact.  You  ought  to  have 
known  then,  as  you  know  now,  that  I  never 
could  have  been  anything  to  you  as  long 
as  I  was  tied  to  Dick.  And  you  know  you 
forced  your  presents  on  me,  Jim.  I  took 
them  from  you  because  I  would  take  no- 
thing from  Dick,  for  I  hated  him.  And 
I  never  knew  positively  that  you  were  in 
straits  then;  you  know  you  always  talked 
big,  Jim,  and  were  always  going  to  make 
your  fortune  with  the  next  thing  you  had  in 
hand!" 

It  was  true,  and  he  remembered  it.  He 
had  not  intended  this  kind  of  recrimination, 
but  he  was  exasperated  with  her  wearied 
acceptance  of  his  reproaches  and  by  a  sud- 
den conviction  that  his  long-cherished  griev- 
ance against  her  now  that  he  had  voiced  it 
was  inadequate,  mean,  and  trifling.  Yet 
he  could  not  help  saying :  — 


144    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

"Then  you  had  presents  from  Sylvester, 
too.  I  presume  you  did  not  hate  him, 
either?" 

"He  would  have  married  me  the  day 
after  I  got  my  divorce." 

"And  so  would  I,"  burst  out  Eeddy. 

She  looked  at  him  fixedly.  "  You  would  ?  " 
she  said  with  a  peculiar  emphasis.  "  And 
now  " 

He  colored.  It  had  been  part  of  his 
revengeful  purpose  on  seeing  her  to  tell  her 
of  his  engagement  to  Nelly.  He  now  found 
himself  tongue-tied,  irresolute,  and  ashamed. 
Yet  he  felt  she  was  reading  his  innermost 
thoughts. 

She,  however,  only  lowered  her  eyes,  and 
with  the  same  tired  expression  said:  "No 
matter  now.  Let  us  talk  of  something 
nearer.  That  was  two  months  ago.  And 
so  you  have  charge  of  this  hotel !  I  like  it 
so  much.  I  mean  the  place  itself.  I  fancy 
I  could  live  here  forever.  It  is  so  far  away 
and  restful.  I  am  so  sick  of  towns  and 
cities,  and  people.  And  this  little  grove 
is  so  secluded.  If  one  had  merely  a  little 
cottage  here,  one  might  be  so  happy." 

What  did  she  mean  ?  —  what  did  she  ex- 
pect?—  what  did  she  think  of  doing?  She 


The  Reformation  of  James  Rvddy.    145 

must  be  got  rid  of  before  Nelly's  arrival, 
and  yet  he  found  himself  wavering  under 
her  potent  and  yet  scarcely  exerted  influ- 
ence. The  desperation  of  weakness  is  apt 
to  be  more  brutal  than  the  determination 
of  strength.  He  remembered  why  he  had 
come  upstairs,  and  blurted  out:  "But  you 
can't  stay  here.  The  rules  are  very  strin- 
gent in  regard  to  —  to  strangers  like  your- 
self. It  will  be  known  who  you  really  are 
and  what  people  say  of  you.  Even  your 
divorce  will  tell  against  you.  It  's  all 
wrong,  I  know  —  but  what  can  I  do?  I 
didn't  make  the  rules.  I  am  only  a  ser- 
vant of  the  landlord,  and  must  carry  them 
out." 

She  leaned  back  against  the  sofa  and 
laughed  silently.  But  she  presently  recov- 
ered herself,  although  with  the  same  expres- 
sion of  fatigue.  "Don't  be  alarmed,  my 
poor  Jim!  If  you  mean  your  friend,  Mr. 
Woodridge,  I  know  him.  It  was  he,  him- 
self, who  suggested  my  coming  here.  And 
don't  misunderstand  him  —  nor  me  either. 
He's  only  a  good  friend  of  Sylvester's; 
they  had  some  speculation  together.  He  's 
coming  here  to  see  me  after  Louis  arrives. 
He  's  waiting  in  San  Francisco  for  his  wife 


146    The  Reformation  of  James  Heddy. 

and  daughter,  who  come  on  the  same 
steamer.  So  you  see  you  won't  get  into 
trouble  on  my  account.  Don't  look  so 
scared,  my  dear  boy." 

"Does  he  know  that  you  knew  me?"  said 
Eeddy,  with  a  white  face. 

"  Perhaps.  But  then  that  was  three 
months  ago,"  returned  the  lady,  smiling, 
"and  you  know  how  you  have  reformed 
since,  and  grown  ever  so  much  more  steady 
and  respectable." 

"Did  he  talk  to  you  of  me?"  continued 
Reddy,  still  aghast. 

"  A  little  —  complimentary  of  course. 
Don't  look  so  frightened.  I  didn't  give 
you  away." 

Her  laugh  suddenly  ceased,  and  her  face 
changed  into  a  more  nervous  activity  as  she 
rose  and  went  toward  the  window.  She 
had  heard  the  sound  of  wheels  outside  — 
the  coach  had  just  arrived. 

"  There  's  Mr.  Woodridge  now,"  she 
said  in  a  more  animated  voice.  "The 
steamer  must  be  in.  But  I  don't  see  Louis; 
do  you?" 

She  turned  to  where  Reddy  was  standing, 
but  he  was  gone. 

The   momentary  animation   of  her   face 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    147 

changed.  She  lifted  her  shoulders  with  a 
half  gesture  of  scorn,  but  in  the  midst  of 
it  suddenly  threw  herself  on  the  sofa,  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

A  few  moments  elapsed  with  the  bustle 
of  arrival  in  the  hall  and  passages.  Then 
there  was  a  hesitating  step  at  her  door. 
She  quickly  passed  her  handkerchief  over 
her  wet  eyes  and  resumed  her  former  look 
of  weary  acceptation.  The  door  opened. 
But  it  was  Mr.  Woodridge  who  entered. 
The  rough  shirt- sleeved  ranchman  had  de- 
veloped, during  the  last  four  months,  into 
an  equally  blunt  but  soberly  dressed  pro- 
prietor. His  keen  energetic  face,  however, 
wore  an  expression  of  embarrassment  and 
anxiety,  with  an  added  suggestion  of  a  half 
humorous  appreciation  of  it. 

"I  would  n't  have  disturbed  you,  Mrs. 
Merry  dew,"  he  said,  with  a  gentle  blunt- 
ness,  "if  I  hadn't  wanted  to  ask  your 
advice  before  I  saw  Keddy.  I  'm  keeping 
out  of  his  way  until  I  could  see  you.  I  left 
Nelly  and  her  mother  in  'Frisco.  There  's 
been  some  queer  goings-on  011  the  steamer 
coming  home;  Nelly  has  sprung  a  new 
game  on  her  mother,  and  —  and  suthin' 
that  looks  as  if  there  might  be  a  new  deal. 


148    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

However,"  here  a  sense  that  he  was,  per- 
haps, treating  his  statement  too  seriously, 
stopped  him,  and  he  smiled  reassuringly, 
"that  is  as  may  be." 

"I  don't  know,"  he  went  on,  "as  I  ever 
told  you  anything  about  my  Nelly  and 
Reddy,  —  partik'lerly  about  Nelly.  She  's 
a  good  girl,  a  square  girl,  but  she  's  got 
some  all-fired  romantic  ideas  in  her  head. 
Mebbee  it  kem  from  her  reading,  mebbee 
it  kem  from  her  not  knowing  other  girls, 
or  seeing  too  much  of  a  queer  sort  of  men ; 
but  she  got  an  interest  in  the  bad  ones,  and 
thought  it  was  her  mission  to  reform  them, 
—  reform  them  by  pure  kindness,  attentive 
little  sisterly  ways,  and  moral  example. 
She  first  tried  her  hand  on  Eeddy.  When 
he  first  kem  to  us  he  was  —  well,  he  was 
a  blazin'  ruin  !  She  took  him  in  hand, 
yanked  him  outer  himself,  put  his  foot  on 
the  bedrock,  and  made  him  what  you  see 
him  now.  Well  —  what  happened  $  why, 
he  got  reg'larly  soft  on  her;  wanted  to 
marry  her,  and  I  agreed  conditionally,  of 
course,  to  keep  him  up  to  the  mark.  Did 
you  speak?" 

"No,"  said  the  lady,  with  her  bright  eyes 
fixed  upon  him. 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.    149 

"Well,  that  was  all  well  and  good,  and 
I  'd  liked  to  have  carried  out  my  part  of 
the  contract,  and  was  willing,  and  am  still. 
But  you  see,  Nelly,  after  she  'd  landed 
Reddy  on  firm  ground,  got  a  little  tired,  I 
reckon,  gal-like,  of  the  thing  she  'd  worked 
so  easily,  and  when  she  went  East  she 
looked  around  for  some  other  wreck  to  try 
her  hand  on,  and  she  found  it  on  the 
steamer  coming  back.  And  who  do  you 
think  it  was?  Why,  our  friend  Louis 
Sylvester!" 

Mrs.  Merrydew  smiled  slightly,  with  her 
bright  eyes  still  on  the  speaker. 

"  Well,  you  know  he  is  fast  at  times  —  if 
he  is  a  friend  of  mine  —  and  she  reg'larly 
tackled  him ;  and  as  my  old  woman  says,  it 
was  a  sight  to  see  her  go  for  him.  But 
then  he  didn't  tumble  to  it.  No!  Re- 
formin'  ain't  in  his  line  I  'm  afeard.  And 
what  was  the  result?  Why,  Nelly  only  got 
all  the  more  keen  when  she  found  she 
couldn't  manage  him  like  Reddy, — and, 
between  you  and  me,  she  'd  have  liked 
Reddy  more  if  he  had  n't  been  so  easy,  — 
and  it 's  ended,  I  reckon,  in  her  now  falling 
dead  in  love  with  Sylvester.  She  swears 
she  won't  marry  any  one  else,  and  wants  to 


150    The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

devote  her  whole  life  to  him!  Now,  what 's 
to  be  done!  Keddy  don't  know  it  yet,  and 
I  don't  know  how  to  tell  him.  Nelly  says 
her  mission  was  ended  when  she  made  a 
new  man  of  him,  and  he  oughter  be  thank- 
ful for  that.  Couldn't  you  kinder  break 
the  news  to  him  and  tell  him  there  ain't 
any  show  for  him? " 

"Does  he  love  the  girl  so  much,  then?" 
said  the  lady  gently. 

"Yes;  but  I  am  afraid  there  is  no  hope 
for  Reddy  as  long  as  she  thinks  there  's  a 
chance  of  her  capturing  Sylvester." 

The  lady  rose  and  went  to  the  writing- 
table.  "Would  it  be  any  comfort  to  you, 
Mr.  Woodridge,  if  you  were  told  that  she 
had  not  the  slightest  chance  with  Sylves- 
ter?" 

"Yes." 

She  wrote  a  few  lines  on  a  card,  put  it  in 
an  envelope,  and  handed  it  to  Woodridge. 
"Find  out  where  Sylvester  is  in  San  Fran- 
cisco, and  give  him  that  card.  I  think  it 
will  satisfy  you.  And  now  as  I  have  to 
catch  the  return  coach  in  ten  minutes,  I 
must  ask  you  to  excuse  me  while  I  put  my 
things  together." 

"And  you  won't  first  break  the  news  to 
Reddy  forme?" 


The  Reformation  of  James  Eeddy.    151 

"No;  and  I  advise  you  to  keep  the  whole 
matter  to  yourself  for  the  present.  Good- 
by!" 

She  smiled  again,  fascinatingly  as  usual, 
but,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  a  trifle  wearily, 
and  then  passed  into  the  inner  room.  Years 
after,  in  his  practical,  matter  of  fact  recol- 
lections of  this  strange  woman,,  he  always 
remembered  her  by  this  smile. 

But  she  had  sufficiently  impressed  him 
by  her  parting  adjuration  to  cause  him  to 
answer  Reddy's  eager  inquiries  with  the 
statement  that  Nelly  and  her  mother  were 
greatly  preoccupied*  with  some  friends  in 
San  Francisco,  and  to  speedily  escape  fur- 
ther questioning.  Reddy's  disappointment 
was  somewhat  mitigated  by  the  simulta- 
neous announcement  of  Mrs.  Merry  dew's 
departure.  But  he  was  still  more  relieved 
and  gratified  to  hear,  a  few  days  later,  of 
the  marriage  of  Mrs.  Merry  dew  with  Louis 
Sylvester.  If,  to  the  general  surprise  and 
comment  it  excited,  he  contributed  only  a 
smile  of  cynical  toleration  and  superior  self- 
complacency,  the  reader  will  understand 
and  not  blame  him.  Nor  did  the  public, 
who  knew  the  austere  completeness  of  his 
reform.  Nor  did  Mr.  Woodridge,  who 


152  The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy. 

failed  to  understand  the  only  actor  in  this 
little  comedy  who  might  perhaps  have  dif- 
fered from  them  all. 

A  month  later  James  Reddy  married 
Nelly  Woodridge,  in  the  chilly  little  church 
at  Oakdale.  Perhaps  by  that  time  it  might 
have  occurred  to  him  that  although  the 
freshness  and  fruition  of  summer  were 
everywhere,  the  building  seemed  to  be  still 
unwarmed.  And  when  he  stepped  forth 
with  his  bride,  and  glanced  across  the  pros- 
perous landscape  toward  the  distant  bay 
and  headlands  of  San  Francisco,  he  shiv- 
ered slightly  at  the  dryly  practical  kiss  of 
the  keen  northwestern  Trades. 

But  he  was  prosperous  and  comfortable 
thereafter,  as  the  respectable  owner  of 
broad  lands  and  paying  shares.  It  was 
said  that  Mrs.  Reddy  contributed  much  to 
the  popularity  of  the  hotel  by  her  charming 
freedom  from  prejudice  and  sympathy  with 
mankind;  but  this  was  perhaps  only  due 
to  the  contrast  to  her  more  serious  and 
at  times  abstracted  husband.  At  least  this 
was  the  charitable  opinion  of  the  prover- 
bially tolerant  and  kind-hearted  Baroness 
Streichholzer  (nee  Merrydew,  and  relict  of 
the  kte  lamented  Louis  Sylvester,  Esq.), 


The  Reformation  of  James  Reddy.  153 

whom  I  recently  had  the  pleasure  of  meet- 
ing at  Wiesbaden,  where  the  waters  and 
reposeful  surroundings  strongly  reminded 
her  of  Oakdale. 


THE   HEIR  OF   THE   McHULISHES. 


THE  consul  for  the  United  States  of  Amer- 
ica at  the  port  of  St.  Kentigern  was  sitting- 
alone  in  the  settled  gloom  of  his  private 
office.  Yet  it  was  only  high  noon,  of  a 
"seasonable"  winter's  day,  by  the  face  of 
the  clock  that  hung  like  a  pallid  moon  on 
the  murky  wall  opposite  to  him.  What 
else  could  be  seen  of  the  apartment  by  the 
faint  light  that  struggled  through  the  pall 
of  fog  outside  the  lustreless  windows  pre- 
sented the  ordinary  aspect  of  a  business 
sanctum.  There  were  a  shelf  of  fog-bound 
admiralty  law,  one  or  two  colored  prints 
of  ocean  steamships  under  full  steam,  bow 
on,  tremendously  foreshortened,  and  seem- 
ing to  force  themselves  through  shadowy 
partitions;  there  were  engravings  of  Lin- 
coln and  Washington,  as  unsubstantial  and 
shadowy  as  the  dead  themselves.  Outside, 
against  the  window,  which  was  almost  level 
with  the  street,  an  occasional  procession  of 


The,  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      155 

black  silhouetted  figures  of  men  and  women, 
with  prayer-books  in  their  hands  and  gloom 
on  their  faces,  seemed  to  be  born  of  the  fog, 
and  prematurely  to  return  to  it.  At  which 
a  conviction  of  sin  overcame  the  consul. 
He  remembered  that  it  was  the  Sabbath 
day,  and  that  he  had  no  business  to  be  at 
the  consulate  at  all. 

Unfortunately,  with  this  shameful  con- 
viction came  the  sound  of  a  bell  ringing 
somewhere  in  the  depths  of  the  building, 
and  the  shuffling  of  feet  on  the  outer  steps. 
The  light  of  his  fire  had  evidently  been 
seen,  and  like  a  beacon  had  attracted  some 
wandering  and  possibly  intoxicated  mariner 
with  American  papers.  The  consul  walked 
into  the  hall  with  a  sudden  righteous  fri- 
gidity of  manner.  It  was  one  thing  to  be 
lounging  in  one's  own  office  on  the  Sabbath 
day,  and  quite  another  to  be  deliberately 
calling  there  on  business. 

He  opened  the  front  door,  and  a  middle- 
aged  man  entered,  accompanying  and  partly 
shoving  forward  a  more  diffident  and  younger 
one.  Neither  appeared  to  be  a  sailor, 
although  both  were  dressed  in  that  dingy 
respectability  and  remoteness  of  fashion 
affected  by  second  and  third  mates  when 


156      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

ashore.  They  were  already  well  in  the  hall, 
and  making  their  way  toward  the  private 
office,  when  the  elder  man  said,  with  an  air 
of  casual  explanation,  "Lookin'  for  the 
American  consul;  I  reckon  this  yer  's  the 
consulate?" 

"It  is  the  consulate,"  said  the  official 
dryly,  "and  I  am  the  consul;  but" 

"That's  all  right,"  interrupted  the 
stranger,  pushing  past  him,  and  opening  the 
door  of  the  private  office,  into  which  he 
shoved  his  companion.  "Thar  now!"  he 
continued  to  the  diffident  youth,  pointing 
to  a  chair,  and  quite  ignoring  the  presence 
of  the  consul  ;  "  thar  's  a  bit  of  America. 
Sit  down  thar.  You  're  under  the  flag  now, 
and  can  do  as  you  darn  please."  Neverthe- 
less, he  looked  a  little  disappointed  as  he 
glanced  around  him,  as  if  he  had  expected  a 
different  environment  and  possibly  a  differ- 
ent climate. 

"I  presume,"  said  the  consul  suavely, 
"you  wish  to  see  me  on  some  urgent  matter; 
for  you  probably  know  that  the  consulate  is 
closed  on  Sunday  to  ordinary  business.  I 
am  here  myself  quite  accidentally." 

"Then you  don't  live  here? "  said  the  vis- 
itor disappointedly. 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      157 

"No." 

"I  reckon  that 's  the  reason  why  we 
didn't  see  no  flag  a-flyin'  when  we  was 
a-huntin'  this  place  yesterday.  We  were 
directed  here,  but  I  says  to  Malcolm,  says 
I,  'No;  it  ain't  here,  or  you'd  see  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  afore  you  'd  see  any  thin' 
else. '  But  I  reckon  you  float  it  over  your 
house,  eh?  " 

The  consul  here  explained  smilingly  that 
he  did  not  fly  a  flag  over  his  lodgings,  and 
that  except  on  national  holidays  it  was  not 
customary  to  display  the  national  ensign  on 
the  consulate. 

"Then  you  can't  do  here  —  and  you  a 
consul  —  what  any  nigger  can  do  in  the 
States,  eh?  That 's  about  how  it  pans  out, 
don't  it?  But  I  did  n't  think  you  'd  tumble 
to  it  quite  so  quick,  Jack." 

At  this  mention  of  his  Christian  name, 
the  consul  turned  sharply  on  the  speaker. 
A  closer  scrutiny  of  the  face  before  him 
ended  with  a  flash  of  reminiscence.  The 
fog  without  and  within  seemed  to  melt  away ; 
he  was  standing  once  more  on  a  Western 
hillside  with  this  man;  a  hundred  miles 
of  sparkling  sunshine  and  crisp,  dry  air 
stretching  around  him,  and  above  a  blue 


158  '     The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

and  arched  sky  that  roofed  the  third  of  a 
continent  with  six  months'  summer.  And 
then  the  fog  seemed  to  come  back  heavier 
and  thicker  to  his  consciousness.  He  emo- 
tionally stretched  out  his  hand  to  the 
stranger.  But  it  was  the  fog  and  his  per- 
sonal surroundings  which  now  seemed  to  be 
unreal. 

"Why  it 's  Harry  Ouster!  "  he  said  with 
a  laugh  that,  however,  ended  in  a  sigh.  "  I 
did  n't  recognize  you  in  this  half  light."  He 
then  glanced  curiously  toward  the  diffident 
young  man,  as  if  to  identify  another  possi- 
ble old  acquaintance. 

"Well,  I  spotted  you  from  the  first,"  said 
Custer,  "though  I  ain't  seen  you  since  we 
were  in  Scott's  Camp  together.  That 's  ten 
years  ago.  You  're  lookin'  at  him,"  he 
continued,  following  the  consul's  wandering 
eye.  "Well,  it 's  about  him  that  I  came  to 
see  you.  This  yer  's  a  McHulish  —  a  gen- 
uine McHulish! " 

He  paused,  as  if  to  give  effect  to  this 
statement.  But  the  name  apparently  offered 
no  thrilling  suggestion  to  the  consul,  who 
regarded  the  young  man  closely  for  further 
explanation.  He  was  a  fair-faced  youth  of 
about  twenty  years,  with  pale  reddish-brown 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      159 

eyes,  dark  hair  reddish  at  the  roots,  and  a 
singular  white  and  pink  waxiness  of  oval 
cheek,  which,  however,  narrowed  suddenly 
at  the  angle  of  the  jaw,  and  fell  away  with 
the  retreating  chin. 

"Yes,"  continued  Custer;  "I  oughter  say 
the  only  McHulish.  He  is  the  direct  heir 
—  and  of  royal  descent !  He  's  one  of  them 
McHulishes  whose  name  in  them  old  history 
times  was  enough  to  whoop  up  the  boys  and 
make  'em  paint  the  town  red.  A  regular 
campaign  boomer  —  the  old  McHulish  was. 
Stump  speeches  and  brass-bands  warn't  in 
it  with  the  boys  when  he  was  around. 
They  'd  go  their  bottom  dollar  and  last  car- 
tridge —  if  they  'd  had  cartridges  in  them 
days  —  on  him.  That  was  the  regular  Mc- 
Hulish gait.  And  Malcolm  there 's  the 
last  of  'em  —  got  the  same  style  of  features, 
too." 

Ludicrous  as  the  situation  was,  it  struck 
the  consul  dimly,  as. through  fog  and  dark- 
ness, that  the  features  of  the  young  man 
were  not  unfamiliar,  and  indeed  had  looked 
out  upon  him  dimly  and  vaguely  at  various 
times,  from  various  historic  canvases.  It 
was  the  face  of  complacent  fatuity,  incom- 
petency,  and  inconstancy,  which  had 


160      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

dragged  down  strength,  competency,  and 
constancy  to  its  own  idiotic  fate  and  levels, 
—  a  face  for  whose  weaknesses  valor  and 
beauty  had  not  only  sacrificed  themselves, 
but  made  things  equally  unpleasant  to  a 
great  many  minor  virtues.  Nevertheless, 
the  consul,  with  an  amused  sense  of  its 
ridiculous  incongruity  to  the  grim  Scottish 
Sabbath  procession  in  the  street,  and  the 
fog-bound  volumes  of  admiralty  law  in  the 
room,  smiled  affably. 

"Of  course  our  young  friend  has  no  de- 
sire to  test  the  magic  of  his  name  here,  in 
these  degenerate  days." 

"No,"  said  Custer  complacently;  "though 
between  you  and  me,  old  man,  there  's  al- 
ways no  tellin'  what  might  turn  up  over  in 
this  yer  monarchy.  Things  of  course  are 
different  over  our  way.  But  jest  now  Mal- 
colm will  be  satisfied  to  take  the  title  and 
property  to  which  he  's  rightful  heir." 

The  consul's  face  fell.  Alas!  it  was 
only  the  old,  old  story.  Its  endless  repeti- 
tions and  variations  had  been  familiar  to 
him  even  in  his  youth  and  in  his  own  land. 
"Ef  that  man  had  his  rights,"  had  once 
been  pointed  out  to  him  in  a  wild  Western 
camp,  "he'd  be  now  sittin'  in  scarlet  on 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      161 

the  right  of  the  Queen  of  England!  "  The 
gentleman  who  was  indicated  in  this  apoca- 
lyptical vision,  it  appeared,  simply  bore  a 
singular  likeness  to  a  reigning  Hanoverian 
family,  which  for  some  unexplained  reason 
he  had  contented  himself  with  bearing  with 
fortitude  and  patience.  But  it  was  in  his 
official  capacity  that  the  consul's  experience 
had  been  the  most  trying.  At  times  it  had 
seemed  to  him  that  much  of  the  real  prop- 
erty and  peerage  of  Great  Britain  was  the 
inherited  right  of  penniless  American  re- 
publicans who  had  hitherto  refrained  from 
presenting  their  legal  claims,  and  that  the 
habitual  first  duty  of  generations  of  British 
noblemen  on  coming  into  their  estates  and 
titles  was  to  ship  their  heirs  and  next  of 
kin  to  America,  and  then  forget  all  about 
them.  He  had  listened  patiently  to  claims 
to  positions  more  or  less  exalted,  —  claims 
often  presented  with  ingenuous  sophistry  or 
pathetic  simplicity,  prosecuted  with  great 
good  humor,  and  abandoned  with  invincible 
cheerf ulness ;  but  they  seldom  culminated 
more  seriously  than  in  the  disbursement  of 
a  few  dollars  by  the  consul  to  enable  the 
rightful  owner  of  millions  to  procure  a 
steerage  passage  back  to  his  previous  demo- 


162      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

cratic  retirement.  There  had  been  others, 
less  sincere  but  more  pretentious  in  qual- 
ity, to  whom,  however,  a  letter  to  the  Her- 
alds' College  in  London  was  all  sufficient, 
and  who,  on  payment  of  various  fees  and 
emoluments,  were  enabled  to  stagger  back 
to  New  York  or  Boston  with  certain  un- 
claimed and  forgotten  luggage  which  a 
more  gallant  ancestor  had  scorned  to  bring 
with  him  into  the  new  life,  or  had  thrown 
aside  in  his  undue  haste  to  make  them  citi- 
zens of  the  republic.  Still,  all  this  had 
grown  monotonous  and  wearisome,  and  was 
disappointing  as  coming  through  the  inter- 
vention of  an  old  friend  who  ought  to  know 
better. 

"Of  course  you  have  already  had  legal 
opinion  on  the  subject  over  there,"  said  the 
consul,  with  a  sigh,  "but  here,  you  know, 
you  ought  first  to  get  some  professional  ad- 
vice from  those  acquainted  with  Scotch  pro- 
cedure. But  perhaps  you  have  that  too." 

"No,"  said  Ouster  cheerfully.  "Why, 
it  ain't  only  two  months  ago  that  I  first  saw 
Malcolm.  Tumbled  over  him  on  his  own 
farm  jest  out  of  MacCorkleville,  Kentucky, 
where  he  and  his  fathers  before  him  had 
been  livin'  nigh  a  hundred  years  —  yes,  a 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      163 

hundred  years,  by  Jove!  ever  since  they 
first  emigrated  to  the  country.  Had  a  talk 
over  it;  saw  an  old  Bible  about  as  big  and 
as  used  up  as  that,"  —  lifting  the  well-worn 
consular  Bible,  —  "with  dates  in  it,  and 
heard  the  whole  story.  And  here  we  are." 

"And  you  have  consulted  no  lawyer?" 
gasped  the  consul. 

"The  McHulishes,"  said  an  unexpected 
voice  that  sounded  thin  and  feminine, 
"never  took  any  legal  decision.  From  the 
craggy  summits  of  Glen  Crankie  he  lifted 
the  banner  of  his  forefathers,  or  raised  the 
war-cry,  'Hulish  dhu,  ieroe! '  from  the  bat- 
tlements of  Craigiedurrach.  And  the  clan 
gathered  round  him  with  shouts  that  rent 
the  air.  That  was  the  way  of  it  in  old 
times.  And  the  boys  whooped  him  up  and 
stood  by  him."  It  was  the  diffident  young 
man  who  had  half  spoken,  half  recited, 
with  an  odd  enthusiasm  that  even  the  cul- 
minating slang  could  not  make  conven- 
tional. 

"That 's  about  the  size  of  it,"  said  Cus- 
ter,  leaning  back  in  his  chair  easily  with  an 
approving  glance  at  the  young  man.  "And 
I  don't  know  if  that  ain't  the  way  to  work 
the  thing  now." 


164      TJie  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

The  consul  stared  hopelessly  from  the 
one  to  the  other.  It  had  always  seemed 
possible  that  this  dreadful  mania  might 
develop  into  actual  insanity,  and  he  had  lit- 
tle doubt  but  that  the  younger  man's  brain 
was  slightly  affected.  But  this  did  not 
account  for  the  delusion  and  expectations 
of  the  elder.  Harry  Custer,  as  the  consul 
remembered  him,  was  a  level-headed,  prac- 
tical miner,  whose  leaning  to  adventure  and 
excitement  had  not  prevented  him  from  be- 
ing a  cool  speculator,  and  he  had  amassed 
more  than  a  competency  by  reason  of  his 
judicious  foresight  and  prompt  action.  Yet 
he  was  evidently  under  the  glamour  of  this 
madman,  although  outwardly  as  lazily  self- 
contained  as  ever. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  said  the  con- 
sul in  a  suppressed  voice,  "that  you  two 
have  come  here  equipped  only  with  a  state- 
ment of  facts  and  a  family  Bible,  and  that 
you  expect  to  take  advantage  of  a  feudal 
enthusiasm  which  no  longer  exists  —  and 
perhaps  never  did  exist  out  of  the  pages  of 
romance  —  as  a  means  of  claiming  estates 
whose  titles  have  long  since  been  settled  by 
law,  and  can  be  claimed  only  under  that 
tenure?  Surely  I  have  misunderstood  you. 
You  cannot  be  in  earnest." 


TJie  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.     165 

"Honest  Injun,"  said  Custer,  nodding 
his  head  lazily.  "We  mean  it,  but  not 
jest  that  way  you  've  put  it.  F'r  instance, 
it  ain't  only  us  two.  This  yer  thing,  ole 
pard,  we  're  runnin'  as  a  syndicate." 

"A  syndicate?"  echoed  the  consul. 

"A  syndicate,"  repeated  Custer.  "Half 
the  boys  that  were  at  Eagle  Camp  are  in  it, 
and  two  of  Malcolm's  neighbors  from  Ken- 
tucky—  the  regular  old  Scotch  breed  like 
himself;  for  you  know  that  MacCorkle 
County  was  settled  by  them  old  Scotch 
Covenanters,  and  the  folks  are  Scotch  Pres- 
byterians to  this  day.  And  for  the  matter 
of  that,  the  Eagle  boys  that  are  in  it  are 
of  Scotch  descent,  or  a  kind  of  blend,  you 
know  ;  in  fact,  I  'm  half  Scotch  myself  — 
or  Irish,"  he  added  thoughtfully.  "So  you 
see  that  settles  your  argument  about  any 
local  opinion,  for  if  them  Scots  don't  know 
their  own  people,  who  does?  " 

"May  I  ask,"  said  the  consul,  with  a  des- 
perate attempt  to  preserve  his  composure, 
"what  you  are  proposing  to  do?" 

"Well,"  said  Custer,  settling  himself 
comfortably  back  in  his  chair  again,  "that 
depends.  Do  you  remember  the  time  that  we 
jumped  them  Mexican  claims  on  the  North 


166      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

Fork  -  -  the  time  them  greasers  wanted 
to  take  in  the  whole  river-bank  because 
they  'd  found  gold  on  one  of  the  upper 
bars?  Seems  to  me  we  jest  went  peaceful- 
like  over  there  one  moonshiny  night,  and 
took  up  their  stakes  and  set  down  ours. 
Seems  to  me  you  were  one  of  the  party." 

"That  was  in  our  own  country,"  returned 
the  consul  hastily,  "and  was  an  indefensi- 
ble act,  even  in  a  lawless  frontier  civiliza- 
tion. But  you  are  surely  not  mad  enough 
even  to  conceive  of  such  a  thing  here  !  " 

"Keep  your  hair  on,  Jack,"  said  Ouster 
lazily.  "What 's  the  matter  with  constitu- 
tional methods,  eh?  Do  you  remember  the 
time  when  we  didn't  like  Pueblo  rules,  and 
we  laid  out  Eureka  City  on  their  lines,  and 
whooped  up  the  Mexicans  and  diggers  to 
elect  mayor  and  aldermen,  and  put  the  city 
front  on  Juanita  Creek,  and  then  corraled 
it  for  water  lots?  Seems  to  me  you  were 
county  clerk  then.  Now  who 's  to  keep 
Dick  Macgregor  and  Joe  Hamilton,  that 
are  both  up  the  Nile  now,  from  droppin'  in 
over  here  to  see  Malcolm  in  his  own  house? 
Who  's  goin'  to  object  to  Wallace  or  Baird, 
who  are  on  this  side,  doin'  the  Eytalian 
lakes,  from  comin'  here  on  their  way  home; 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      167 

or  Watson  and  Moore  and  Tiniley,  that  are 
livin'  over  in  Paris,  from  joinin'  the  boys 
in  givin'  Malcolm  a  housewarmin'  in  his 
old  home?  What 's  to  keep  the  whole  syn- 
dicate from  gatherhr  at  Kelpie  Island  up 
here  off  the  west  coast,  among  the  tombs 
of  Malcolm's  ancestors,  and  fixin'  up  things 
generally  with  the  clan?  " 

"Only  one  thing,"  said  the  consul,  with 
a  gravity  which  he  nevertheless  felt  might 
be  a  mistaken  attitude.  "You  should  n't 
have  told  me  about  it.  For  if,  as  your  old 
friend,  I  cannot  keep  you  from  committing 
an  unconceivable  folly,  as  the  American 
consul  here  it  will  be  my  first  duty  to  give 
notice  to  our  legation,  and  perhaps  warn 
the  authorities.  And  you  may  be  sure  I 
will  do  it." 

To  his  surprise  Ouster  leaned  forward 
and  pressed  his  hand  with  an  expression  of 
cheerful  relief.  "That's  so,  old  pard;  I 
reckoned  on  it.  In  fact,  I  told  Malcolm 
that  that  would  be  about  your  gait.  Of 
course  you  couldn't  do  otherwise.  And  it 
would  have  been  play  in'  it  rather  low  down 
on  you  to  have  left  you  out  in  the  cold  — 
without  even  that  show  in  the  game.  For 
what  you  will  do  in  warnin'  the  other  fel- 


168      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

lows,  don't  you  see,  will  just  waken  up  the 
clan.  It 's  better  than  a  campaign  circu- 
lar." 

"Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  said  the 
consul,  with  a  half -hysterical  laugh.  "But 
we  won't  consider  so  lamentable  a  contin- 
gency. Come  and  dine  with  me,  both  of 
you,  and  we  '11  discuss  the  only  thing  worth 
discussing, — your  legal  rights, — and  you 
can  tell  me  your  whole  story,  which,  by  the 
way,  I  have  n't  heard." 

"Sorry,  Jack,  but  it  can't  be  done,"  said 
Custer,  with  his  first  approach  to  serious- 
ness of  manner.  "You  see,  we  'd  made  up 
our  mind  not  to  come  here  again  after  this 
first  call.  We  ain't  goin'  to  compromise 
you." 

"I  am  the  best  judge  of  that,"  returned 
the  consul  dryly.  Then  suddenly  changing 
his  manner,  he  grasped  Ouster's  hands 
with  both  his  own.  "Come,  Harry,"  he 
said  earnestly ;  "  I  will  not  believe  that  this 
is  not  a  joke,  but  I  beg  of  you  to  promise 
me  one  thing,  —  do  not  move  a  step  further 
in  this  matter  without  legal  counsel.  I  will 
give  you  a  letter  to  a  legal  friend  of  mine 
—  a  man  of  affairs,  a  man  of  the  world, 
and  a  Scot  as  typical,  perhaps,  as  any  you 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      169 

have  mentioned.  State  your  legal  case  to 
him  —  only  that ;  but  his  opinion  will  show 
you  also,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  the  folly  of 
your  depending  upon  any  sectional  or  his- 
torical sentiment  in  this  matter." 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  sat  down 
and  hastily  wrote  a  few  lines  to  a  friendly 
local  magnate.  When  he  had  handed  the 
note  to  Ouster,  the  latter  looked  at  the 
address,  and  showed  it  to  his  young  com- 
panion. 

"Same  name,  isn't  it?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  responded  Mr.  McHulish. 

"Do  you  know  him?"  asked  the  consul, 
evidently  surprised. 

"We  don't;  but  he  's  a  friend  of  one  of 
the  Eagle  boys.  I  reckon  we  would  have 
seen  him  anyhow;  but  we  '11  agree  with  you 
to  hold  on  until  we  do.  It 's  a  go.  Good- 
by,  old  pard!  So  long." 

They  both  shook  the  consul's  hand,  and 
departed,  leaving  him  staring  at  the  fog 
into  which  they  had  melted  as  if  they  were 
unreal  shadows  of  the  past. 


170      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 


II. 

The  next  morning  the  fog  had  given  way 
to  a  palpable,  horizontally  driving  rain, 
which  wet  the  inside  as  well  as  the  outside 
of  umbrellas,  and  caused  them  to  be  pre- 
sented at  every  conceivable  angle  as  they 
drifted  past  the  windows  of  the  consulate. 
There  was  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  a  clerk 
entered. 

"Ye  will  be  in  to  Sir  James  MacFen?  " 

The  consul  nodded,  and  added,  "Show 
him  in  here." 

It  was  the  magnate  to  whom  he  had  sent 
the  note  the  previous  day,  a  man  of  large 
yet  slow  and  cautious  nature,  learned  and 
even  pedantic,  yet  far-sighted  and  practical ; 
very  human  and  hearty  in  social  intercourse, 
which,  however,  left  him  as  it  found  him, 
—  with  no  sentimental  or  unbusiness-like 
entanglements.  The  consul  had  known  him 
sensible  and  sturdy  at  board  meetings  and 
executive  councils;  logical  and  convincing 
at  political  gatherings ;  decorous  and  grave 
in  the  kirk;  and  humorous  and  jovial  at 
festivities,  where  perhaps  later  in  the  even- 
ing, in  company  with  others,  hands  were 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      171 

clasped  over  a  libation  lyrically  defined  as 
a  "right  guid  williewaught. "  On  one  of 
these  occasions  they  had  walked  home  to- 
gether, not  without  some  ostentation  of 
steadiness;  yet  when  MacFen's  eminently 
respectable  front  door  had  closed  upon  him, 
the  consul  was  perfectly  satisfied  that  a  dis- 
tinctly proper  and  unswerving  man  of  busi- 
ness would  issue  from  it  the  next  morning. 

"Ay,  but  it 's  a  soft  day,"  said  Sir  James, 
removing  his  gloves.  "Ye  '11  not  be  gadding 
about  in  this  weather." 

"You  got  my  note  of  introduction,  I  sup- 
pose?" said  the  consul,  when  the  momen- 
tous topic  of  the  weather  was  exhausted. 

"Oh,  ay." 

"And  you  saw  the  gentlemen?" 

"Ay." 

"And  what's  your  opinion  of  —  his 
claims?" 

"He's  a  fine  lad  —  that  Malcolm — a 
fine  type  of  a  lad,"  said  Sir  James,  with  an 
almost  too  effusive  confidence.  "Ye '11  be 
thinking  so  yourself  —  no  doubt  ?  Ay, 
it 's  wonderful  to  consider  the  preservation 
of  type  so  long  after  its  dispersal  in  other 
lands.  And  it 's  a  strange  and  wonderful 
country  that  of  yours,  with  its  plantations 


172      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

—  as  one  might  say  —  of  homogeneity  un- 
impaired for  so  many  years,  and  keeping 
the  old  faith  too  —  and  all  its  strange  sur- 
vivals. Ay,  and  that  Kentucky,  where  his 
land  is  —  it  will  be  a  rich  State !  It  's 
very  instructing  and  interesting  to  hear  his 
account  of  that  remarkable  region  they  call 
'the  blue  grass  country,'  and  the  stock  they 
raise  there.  I  'm  obliged  to  ye,  my  friend, 
for  a  most  edifying  and  improving  even- 
ing." 

"But  his  claim  —  did  he  not  speak  of 
that?" 

"Oh,  ay.  And  that  Mr.  Ouster  — he's 
a  grand  man,  and  an  amusing  one.  Ye  '11 
be  great  comrades,  you  and  he!  Man!  it 
was  delightful  to  hear  him  tell  of  the  rare 
doings  and  the  bit  fun  ye  two  had  in  the 
old  times.  Eh,  sir,  but  who  'd  think  that 
of  the  proper  American  consul  at  St.  Ken- 
tigern!"  And  Sir  James  leaned  back  in 
his  chair,  and  bestowed  an  admiring  smile 
on  that  official. 

The  consul  thought  he  began  to  under- 
stand this  evasion.  "Then  you  don't  think 
much  of  Mr.  McHulish's  claim?  "  he  said. 

"I  'm  not  saying  that." 

"But  do  you  really  think  a  claim  based 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      173 

upon  a  family  Bible  and  a  family  likeness 
a  subject  for  serious  consideration?" 

"I  'm  not  saying  that  either,  laddie." 

"Perhaps  he  has  confided  to  you  more 
fully  than  he  has  to  me,  or  possibly  you 
yourself  knew  something  in  corroboration 
of  his  facts." 

"No." 

His  companion  had  evidently  no  desire 
to  be  communicative.  But  the  consul  had 
heard  enough  to  feel  that  he  was  justified 
in  leaving  the  matter  in  his  hands.  He 
had  given  him  fair  warning.  Yet,  never- 
theless, he  would  be  even  more  explicit. 

"I  do  not  know,"  he  began,  "whether 
this  young  McHulish  confided  to  you  his 
great  reliance  upon  some  peculiar  effect  of 
his  presence  among  the  tenants,  and  of  es- 
tablishing his  claim  to  the  property  by  ex- 
citing the  enthusiasm  of  the  clan.  It  cer- 
tainly struck  me  that  he  had  some  rather 
exaggerated  ideas,  borrowed,  perhaps,  from 
romances  he  'd  read,  like  Don  Quixote  his 
books  of  chivalry.  He  seems  to  believe  in 
the  existence  of  a  clan  loyalty,  and  the  ac- 
tual survival  of  old  feudal  instincts  and  of 
old  feudal  methods  in  the  Highlands.  He 
appears  to  look  upon  himself  as  a  kind  of 


174      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

local  Prince  Charlie,   and,   by  Jove!  I've 
an  idea  he  's  almost  as  crazy." 

"And  why  should  he  na  believe  in  his 
own  kith  and  kin?"  said  Sir  James, 
quickly,  with  a  sudden  ring  in  his  voice, 
and  a  dialectical  freedom  quite  distinct 
from  his  former  deliberate  and  cautious 
utterance.  "The  McHulishes  were  chief- 
tains before  America  was  discovered,  and 
many  's  the  time  they  overran  the  border 
before  they  went  as  far  as  that.  If  there  's 
anything  in  blood  and  loyalty,  it  would  be 
strange  if  they  did  na  respond.  And  I  can 
tell  ye,  ma  frien',  there  's  more  in  the  Hie- 
lands  than  any  'romancer,'  as  ye  call  them, 
—  ay,  even  Scott  hissel',  and  he  was  but 
an  Edinboro'  man,  —  ever  dreamed  of. 
Don't  fash  yoursel'  about  that.  And  you 
and  me  '11  not  agree  about  Prince  Charlie. 
Some  day  I  '11  tell  ye,  ma  frien',  mair  aboot 
that  bonnie  laddie  than  ye  '11  gather  from 
your  partisan  historians.  Until  then  ye  '11 
be  wise  when  ye  '11  be  talking  to  Scotchmen 
not  to  be  expressing  your  Southern  preju- 
dices." 

Intensely  surprised  and  amused  at  this 
sudden  outbreak  of  enthusiasm  on  the  part 
of  the  usually  cautious  lawyer,  the  consul 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      175 

could  not  refrain  from  accenting  it  by  a 
marked  return  to  practical  business. 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to  learn  more  about 
Prince  Charlie,"  he  said,  smiling,  "but  just 
now  his  prototype  —  if  you  '11  allow  me  to 
call  him  so  —  is  a  nearer  topic,  and  for  the 
present,  at  least  until  he  assume  his  new 
titles  and  dignities,  has  a  right  to  claim 
my  protection,  and  I  am  responsible  for 
him  as  an  American  citizen.  Now,  my  dear 
friend,  is  there  really  any  property,  land, 
or  title  of  any  importance  involved  in  his 
claim,  and  what  and  where,  in  Heaven's 
name,  is  it?  For  I  assure  you  I  know  no- 
thing practical  about  it,  and  cannot  make 
head  or  tail  of  it." 

Sir  James  resumed  his  slow  serenity,  and 
gathered  up  his  gloves.  "Ay,  there's  a 
great  deer-forest  in  Ballochbrinkie,  and 
there  's  part  of  Loch  Phillibeg  in  Cairn  - 
gormshire,  and  there  's  Kelpie  Island  off 
Moreover  shire.  Ay,  there  's  enough  land 
when  the  crofters  are  cleared  off,  and  the 
small  sheep-tenants  evicted.  It  will  be  a 
grand  property  then." 

The  consul  stared.  "The  crofters  and 
tenants  evicted !"  he  repeated.  "Are  they 
not  part  of  the  clan,  and  loyal  to  the  Mc- 
Hulish?" 


176      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

"The  McHulish,"  said  Sir  James  with 
great  deliberation,  "has  n't  set  foot  there 
for  years.  They  'd  be  burning  him  in 
effigy." 

"But,"  said  the  astonished  consul,  "that 's 
rather  bad  for  the  expectant  heir  —  and  the 
magic  of  the  McHulish  presence." 

"  I  'm  not  saying  that,"  returned  Sir 
James  cautiously.  "Ye  see  he  can  be  mak- 
ing better  arrangements  with  the  family  on 
account  of  it." 

"With  the  family?  "  repeated  the  consul. 
"Then  does  he  talk  of  compromising?" 

"I  mean  they  would  be  more  likely  to 
sell  for  a  fair  consideration,  and  he  'd  be 
better  paying  money  to  them  than  the  law- 
yers. The  syndicate  will  be  rich,  eh?  And 
I  'm  not  saying  the  McHulish  would  n't  take 
Kentucky  lands  in  exchange.  It  's  a  fine 
country,  that  blue  grass  district." 

The  consul  stared  at  Sir  James  so  long 
that  a  faint  smile  came  into  the  latter 's 
shrewd  eyes;  at  which  the  consul  smiled, 
too.  A  vague  air  of  relief  and  understand- 
ing seemed  to  fill  the  apartment. 

"  Oh,  ay,"  continued  Sir  James,  draw- 
ing on  his  gloves  with  easy  deliberation, 
"he's  a  fine  lad  that  Malcolm,  and  it's  a 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      177 

praiseworthy  instinct  in  him  to  wish  to 
return  to  the  land  of  his  forebears,  and 
take  his  place  again  among  them.  And 
I  'm  noticing,  Mr.  Consul,  that  a  great 
many  of  your  countrymen  are  doing  the 
same.  Eh,  yours  is  a  gran'  country  of 
progress  and  ceevel  and  religious  liberty, 
but  for  a'  that,  as  Burns  says,  it 's  in  your 
blood  to  turn  to  the  auld  home  again.  And 
it 's  a  fine  thing  to  have  the  money  to  do  it 
—  and,  I  'm  thinking,  money  well  spent  all 
around.  Good  -  morning.  Eh,  but  I  'm 
forgetting  that  I  wanted  to  ask  you  to  dine 
with  me  and  Malcolm,  and  your  Mr.  Cus- 
ter,  and  Mr.  Watson,  who  will  be  one  of 
your  syndicate,  and  whom  I  once  met 
abroad.  But  ye  '11  get  a  bit  note  of  invita- 
tion, with  the  day,  from  me  later." 

The  consul  remembered  that  Custer  had 
said  that  one  of  the  "Eagle  boys"  had 
known  Sir  James.  This  was  evidently 
Watson.  He  smiled  again,  but  this  time 
Sir  James  responded  only  in  a  general  sort 
of  way,  as  he  genially  bowed  himself  out  of 
the  room. 

The  consul  watched  his  solid  and  emi- 
nently respectable  figure  as  it  passed  the 
window,  and  then  returned  to  his  desk, 


178      The,  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

still  smiling.  First  of  all  he  was  relieved. 
What  had  seemed  to  him  a  wild  and  reck- 
less enterprise,  with  possibly  some  grim 
international  complications  on  the  part  of 
his  compatriots,  had  simply  resolved  itself 
into  an  ordinary  business  speculation  —  the 
ethics  of  which  they  had  pretty  equally 
divided  with  the  local  operators.  If  any- 
thing, it  seemed  that  the  Scotchman  would 
get  the  best  of  the  bargain,  and  that,  for 
once  at  least,  his  countrymen  were  deficient 
in  foresight.  But  that  was  a  matter  be- 
tween the  parties,  and  Ouster  himself  would 
probably  be  the  first  to  resent  any  sugges- 
tion of  the  kind  from  the  consul.  The 
vision  of  the  McHulish  burned  in  effigy  by 
his  devoted  tenants  and  retainers,  and  the 
thought  that  the  prosaic  dollars  of  his  coun- 
trymen would  be  substituted  for  the  potent 
presence  of  the  heir,  tickled,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  the  saturnine  humor  of  the  consul. 
He  had  taken  an  invincible  dislike  to  the 
callow  representative  of  the  McHulish,  who 
he  felt  had  in  some  extraordinary  way  im- 
posed upon  Ouster's  credulity.  But  then 
he  had  apparently  imposed  equally  upon 
the  practical  Sir  James.  The  thought  of 
this  sham  ideal  of  feudal  and  privileged 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      179 

incompetency  being  elevated  to  actual  posi- 
tion by  the  combined  efforts  of  American 
republicans  and  hard-headed  Scotch  dissen- 
ters, on  whom  the  soft  Scotch  mists  fell 
from  above  with  equal  impartiality,  struck 
him  as  being  very  amusing,  and  for  some 
time  thereafter  lightened  the  respectable 
gloom  of  his  office.  Other  engagements 
prevented  his  attendance  at  Sir  James's 
dinner,  although  he  was  informed  afterward 
that  it  had  passed  off  with  great  eclat^  the 
later  singing  of  "  Auld  lang  Syne,"  and  the 
drinking  of  the  health  of  Ouster  and  Mal- 
colm with  "Hieland  honors."  He  learned 
also  that  Sir  James  had  invited  Ouster  and 
Malcolm  to  his  lacustrine  country-seat  in 
the  early  spring.  But  he  learned  nothing 
more  of  the  progress  of  Malcolm's  claim, 
its  details,  or  the  manner  in  which  it  was 
prosecuted.  No  one  else  seemed  to  know 
anything  about  it;  it  found  no  echo  in  the 
gossip  of  the  clubs,  or  in  the  newspapers  of 
St.  Kentigern.  In  the  absence  of  the  par- 
ties connected  with  it,  it  began  to  assume 
to  him  the  aspect  of  a  half-humorous  ro- 
mance. He  often  found  himself  wondering 
if  there  had  been  any  other  purpose  in  this 
quest  or  speculation  than  what  had  ap- 


180      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

peared  on  the  surface,  it  seemed  so  inade- 
quate in  result.  It  would  have  been  so 
perfectly .  easy  for  a  wealthy  syndicate  to 
buy  up  a  much  more  valuable  estate.  He 
disbelieved  utterly  in  the  sincerity  of  Mal- 
colm's sentimental  attitude.  There  must 
be  some  other  reason  —  perhaps  not  known 
even  to  the  syndicate. 

One  day  he  thought  that  he  had  found  it. 
He  had  received  a  note  addressed  from  one 
of  the  principal  hotels,  but  bearing  a  large 
personal  crest  on  paper  and  envelope.  A 
Miss  Kirkby,  passing  through  St.  Kenti- 
gern  on  her  way  to  Edinburgh,  desired  to 
see  the  consul  the  next  day,  if  he  would 
appoint  an  hour  at  the  consulate ;  or,  as  her 
time  was  limited,  she  would  take  it  as  a 
great  favor  if  he  would  call  at  her  hotel. 
Although  a  countrywoman,  her  name  might 
not  be  so  well  known  to  him  as  those  of  her 
"old  friends"  Harry  Custer,  Esq.,  and  Sir 
Malcolm  McHulish.  The  consul  was  a  lit- 
tle surprised;  the  use  of  the  title  —  unless 
it  referred  to  some  other  McHulish  —  would 
seem  to  indicate  that  Malcolm's  claim  was 
successful.  He  had,  however,  no  previous 
knowledge  of  the  title  of  "Sir"  in  connec- 
tion with  the  estate,  and  it  was  probable 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      181 

that  his  fair  correspondent  —  like  most  of 
her  countrywomen  —  was  more  apprecia- 
tive than  correct  in  her  bestowal  of  digni- 
ties. He  determined  to  waive  his  ordinary 
business  rules,  and  to  call  upon  her  at  once, 
accepting,  as  became  his  patriotism,  that 
charming  tyranny  which  the  American  wo- 
man usually  reserves  exclusively  for  her 
devoted  countrymen. 

She  received  him  with  an  affectation  of 
patronage,  as  if  she  had  lately  become  un- 
easily conscious  of  being  in  a  country  where 
there  were  distinctions  of  class.  She  was 
young,  pretty,  and  tastefully  dressed;  the 
national  feminine  adaptability  had  not, 
however,  extended  to  her  voice  and  accent. 
Both  were  strongly  Southwestern,  and  as 
she  began  to  speak  she  seemed  to  lose  her 
momentary  affectation. 

"It  was  mighty  good  of  you  to  come  and 
see  me,  for  the  fact  is,  I  did  n't  admire 
going  to  your  consulate  —  not  one  bit. 
You  see,  I  'm  a  Southern  girl,  and  never 
was  'reconstructed  '  either.  I  don't  hanker 
after  your  Gov'ment.  I  have  n't  recog- 
nized it,  and  don't  want  to.  I  reckon  I 
ain't  been  under  the  flag  since  the  wah. 
So  you  see,  I  have  n't  any  papers  to  get 


182      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

authenticated,  nor  any  certificates  to  ask 
for,  and  ain't  wanting  any  advice  or  protec- 
tion. I  thought  I  'd  be  fair  and  square 
with  you  from  the  word  'go. ' ' 

Nothing  could  be  more  fascinating  and 
infectious  than  the  mirthful  ingenuousness 
which  accompanied  and  seemed  to  mitigate 
this  ungracious  speech,  and  the  consul  was 
greatly  amused,  albeit  conscious  that  it  was 
only  an  attitude,  and  perhaps  somewhat 
worn  in  sentiment.  He  knew  that  during 
the  war  of  the  rebellion,  and  directly  after 
it,  Great  Britain  was  the  resort  of  certain 
Americans  from  the  West  as  well  as  from 
the  South  who  sought  social  distinction  by 
the  affectation  of  dissatisfaction  with  their 
own  government  or  the  ostentatious  simu- 
lation of  enforced  exile;  but  he  was  quite 
unprepared  for  this  senseless  protraction 
of  dead  and  gone  issues.  He  ventured  to 
point  out  with  good-humored  practicality 
that  several  years  had  elapsed  since  the  war, 
that  the  South  and  North  were  honorably 
reconciled,  and  that  he  was  legally  supposed 
to  represent  Kentucky  as  well  as  New 
York.  "Your  friends,"  he  added  smil- 
ingly, "Mr.  Custer  and  Mr.  McHulish, 
seemed  to  accept  the  fact  without  any  post- 
humous sentiment." 


The,  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      183 

"I  don't  go  much  on  that,"  she  said  with 
a  laugh.  "I've  been  living  in  Paris  till 
maw  —  who  's  lying  down  upstairs  —  came 
over  and  brought  me  across  to  England 
for  a  look  around.  And  I  reckon  Mal- 
colm 's  got  to  keep  touch  with  you  on  ac- 
count of  his  property." 

The  consul  smiled.  "Ah,  then,  I  hope 
you  can  tell  me  something  about  that,  for 
I  really  don't  know  whether  he  has  estab- 
lished his  claim  or  not." 

"Why,"  returned  the  girl  with  naive  as- 
tonishment, "that  was  just  what  I  was  going 
to  ask  you.  He  reckoned  you  'd  know  all 
about  it." 

"I  haven't  heard  anything  of  the  claim 
for  two  months,"  said  the  consul;  "but 
from  your  reference  to  him  as  'Sir  Mal- 
colm, '  I  presumed  you  considered  it  settled. 
Though,  of  course,  even  then  he  would  n't 
be  'Sir  Malcolm,'  and  you  might  have 
meant  somebody  else." 

"Well,  then,  Lord  Malcolm— I  can't 
get  the  hang  of  those  titles  yet." 

"Neither  'Lord  '  nor  'Sir' ;  you  know  the 
estate  carries  no  title  whatever  with  it," 
said  the  consul  smilingly. 

"But  would  n't  he  be  the  laird  of  some- 
thing or  other,  you  know?" 


184      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

"Yes;  but  that  is  only  a  Scotch  descrip- 
tion, not  a  title.  It 's  not  the  same  as 
Lord." 

The  young  girl  looked  at  him  with  un- 
disguised astonishment.  A  half  laugh 
twitched  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  "Are 
you  sure?  "  she  said. 

"Perfectly,"  returned  the  consul,  a  little 
impatiently ;  "  but  do  I  understand  that  you 
really  know  nothing  more  of  the  progress 
of  the  claim?" 

Miss  Kirkby,  still  abstracted  by  some  hu- 
morous astonishment,  said  quickly:  "Wait 
a  minute.  I  '11  just  run  up  and  see  if 
maw  's  coming  down.  She  'd  admire  to  see 
you."  Then  she  stopped,  hesitated,  and 
as  she  rose  added,  "Then  a  laird's  wife 
wouldn't  be  Lady  anything,  anyway,  would 
she?" 

"She  certainly  would  acquire  no  title 
merely  through  her  marriage." 

The  young  girl  laughed  again,  nodded, 
and  disappeared.  The  consul,  amused  yet 
somewhat  perplexed  over  the  naive  brusque - 
ness  of  the  interview,  waited  patiently. 
Presently  she  returned,  a  little  out  of 
breath,  but  apparently  still  enjoying  some 
facetious  retrospect,  and  said,  "Maw  will 


The  Hew  of  the  McHulishes.      185 

be  down  soon."  After  a  pause,  fixing  her 
bright  eyes  mischievously  on  the  consul,  she 
continued :  — 

"Did  you  see  much  of  Malcolm?" 

"I  saw  him  only  once." 

"What  did  you  think  of  him?" 

The  consul  in  so  brief  a  period  had  been 
unable  to  judge. 

"You  wouldn't  think  I  was  half  engaged 
to  him,  would  you?" 

The  consul  was  obliged  again  to  protest 
that  in  so  short  an  interview  he  had  been 
unable  to  conceive  of  Malcolm's  good  for- 
tune. 

"I  know  what  you  mean,"  said  the  girl 
lightly.  "You  think  he  's  a  crank.  But  it 's 
all  over  now;  the  engagement 's  off." 

"  I  trust  that  this  does  not  mean  that  you 
doubt  his  success?  " 

The  lady  shrugged  her  shoulders  disdain- 
fully. "That 's  all  right  enough,  I  reckon. 
There  's  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  the 
syndicate.  Maw  put  in  twenty  thousand, 
and  Ouster's  bound  to  make  it  go  —  par- 
ticularly as  there  's  some  talk  of  a  com- 
promise. But  Malcolm  's  a  crank,  and  I 
reckon  if  it  wasn't  for  the  compromise  the 
syndicate  would  n't  have  much  show.  Why, 


186      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

he  did  n't  even  know  that  the  McHulishes 
had  no  title." 

"Do  you  think  he  has  been  suffering 
under  a  delusion  in  regard  to  his  relation- 
ship?" 

"  No ;  he  was  only  a  fool  in  the  way  he 
wanted  to  prove  it.  He  actually  got  these 
boys  to  think  it  could  be  filibustered  into 
his  possession.  Had  a  sort  of  idea  of  'a 
rising  in  the  Highlands,'  you  know,  like 
that  poem  or  picture  —  which  is  it?  And 
those  fool  boys,  and  Custer  among  them, 
thought  it  would  be  great  fun  and  a  great 
spree.  Luckily,  maw  had  the  gumption  to 
get  Watson  to  write  over  about  it  to  one  of 
his  friends,  a  Mr.  —  Mr.  —  MacFen,  a  very 
prominent  man." 

"Perhaps  you  mean  Sir  James  MacFen," 
suggested  the  consul.  "He  's  a  knight. 
And  what  did  he  say?  "  he  added  eagerly. 

"Oh,  he  wrote  a  most  sensible  letter," 
returned  the  lady,  apparently  mollified  by 
the  title  of  Watson's  adviser,  "saying  that 
there  was  little  doubt,  if  any,  that  if  the 
American  McHulishes  wanted  the  old  estate 
they  could  get  it  by  the  expenditure  of  a  lit- 
tle capital.  He  offered  to  make  the  trial ; 
that  was  the  compromise  they  're  talking 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      187 

about.  But  he  didn't  say  anything  about 
there  being  no  'Lord  '  McHulish." 

"Perhaps  he  thought,  as  you  were  Amer- 
icans, you  didn't  care  for  that,"  said  the 
consul  dryly. 

"That's  no  reason  why  we  shouldn't 
have  it  if  it  belonged  to  us,  or  we  chose  to 
pay  for  it,"  said  the  lady  pertly. 

"Then  your  changed  personal  relations 
with  Mr.  McHulish  is  the  reason  why  you 
hear  so  little  of  his  progress  or  his  expecta- 
tions? " 

"Yes;  but  he  don't  know  that  they  are 
changed,  for  we  have  n't  seen  him  since 
we  've  been  here,  although  they  say  he  's 
here,  and  hiding  somewhere  about." 

"Why  should  he  be  hiding?" 

The  young  girl  lifted  her  pretty  brows. 
"Maybe  he  thinks  it 's  mysterious.  Didn't 
I  tell  you  he  was  a  crank? "  Yet  she 
laughed  so  naively,  and  with  such  sublime 
unconsciousness  of  any  reflection  on  herself, 
that  the  consul  was  obliged  to  smile  too. 

"You  certainly  do  not  seem  to  be  break- 
ing your  heart  as  well  as  your  engagement," 
he  said. 

"  Not  much  —  but  here  comes  maw. 
Look  here,"  she  said,  turning  suddenly  and 


188      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

coaxingly  upon  him,  "if  she  asks  you  to 
come  along  with  us  up  north,  you  '11  come, 
won't  you?  Do !  It  will  be  such  fun !  " 

"Up  north?"  repeated  the  consul  inter- 
rogatively. 

"  Yes  ;  to  see  the  property.  Here  's 
maw." 

A  more  languid  but  equally  well-ap- 
pointed woman  had  entered  the  room. 
When  the  ceremony  of  introduction  was 
over,  she  turned  to  her  daughter  and  said, 
"  Run  away,  dear,  while  I  talk  business  with 
—  er  —  this  gentleman,"  and,  as  the  girl 
withdrew  laughingly,  she  half  stifled  a  rem- 
iniscent yawn,  and  raised  her  heavy  lids  to 
the  consul. 

"You  've  had  a  talk  with  my  Elsie?" 

The  consul  confessed  to  having  had  that 
pleasure. 

"  She  speaks  her  mind,"  said  Mrs. 
Kirkby  wearily,  "but  she  means  well,  and 
for  all  her  flightiness  her  head  's  level. 
And  since  her  father  died  she  runs  me,"  she 
continued  with  a  slight  laugh.  After  a 
pause,  she  added  abstractedly,  "I  suppose 
she  told  you  of  her  engagement  to  young 
McHulish?" 

"Yes;  but  she  said  she  had  broken  it." 


The,  Heir  of  the,  McHulishes.      189 

Mrs.  Kirkby  lifted  her  eyebrows  with  an 
expression  of  relief.  "It  was  a  piece  of 
girl  and  boy  foolishness,  anyway,"  she  said. 
"Elsie  and  he  were  children  together  at 
MacCorkleville,  —  second  cousins,  in  fact, 

—  and  I  reckon  he  got  her  fancy  excited 
over  his  nobility,   and  his  being  the  chief 
of  the  McHulishes.     Of  course  Custer  will 
manage  to  get  something  for  the  sharehold- 
ers out  of  it,  —  I  never  knew  him  to  fail  in 
a    money   speculation    yet,  —  but   I   think 
that 's  about  all.     I  had  an  idea  of  going 
up  with  Elsie  to  take  a  look  at  the  property, 
and  I  thought  of  asking  you  to  join  us. 
Did  Elsie  tell  you?     I  know  she  'd  like  it 

—  and  so  would  I." 

For  all  her  indolent,  purposeless  manner, 
there  was  enough  latent  sincerity  and  ear- 
nestness in  her  request  to  interest  the  con- 
sul. Besides,  his  own  curiosity  in  regard 
to  this  singularly  supported  claim  was  ex- 
cited, and  here  seemed  to  be  an  opportunity 
of  satisfying  it.  He  was  not  quite  sure, 
either,  that  his  previous  antagonism  to  his 
fair  countrywoman's  apparent  selfishness 
and  snobbery  was  entirely  just.  He  had 
been  absent  from  America  a  long  time; 
perhaps  it  was  he  himself  who  had  changed, 


190      The  Heir  of  the  Mcffulishes.  ' 

and  lost  touch  with  his  compatriots.  And 
yet  the  demonstrative  independence  and 
recklessness  of  men  like  Custer  were  less 
objectionable  to,  and  less  inconsistent  with, 
his  American  ideas  than  the  snobbishness 
and  almost  servile  adaptability  of  the  wo- 
men. Or  was  it  possible  that  it  was  only 
a  weakness  of  the  sex,  which  no  republi- 
can nativity  or  education  could  eliminate? 
Nevertheless  he  looked  up  smilingly. 

"But  the  property  is,  I  understand,  scat- 
tered about  in  various  places,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  but  we  mean  to  go  only  to  Kelpie 
Island,  where  there  is  the  ruin  of  an  old 
castle.  Elsie  must  see  that." 

The  consul  thought  it  might  be  amusing. 
"By  all  means  let  us  see  that.  I  shall  be 
delighted  to  go  with  you." 

His  ready  and  unqualified  assent  appeared 
to  relieve  and  dissipate  the  lady's  abstrac- 
tion. She  became  more  natural  and  con- 
fiding; spoke  freely  of  Malcolm's  mania, 
which  she  seemed  to  accept  as  a  hallucina- 
tion or  a  conviction  with  equal  cheerfulness, 
and,  in  brief,  convinced  the  consul  that  her 
connection  with  the  scheme  was  only  the 
caprice  of  inexperienced  and  unaccustomed 
idleness.  He  left  her,  promising  to  return 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      191 

the  next  day  and  arrange  for  their  early 
departure. 

His  way  home  lay  through  one  of  the 
public  squares  of  St.  Kentigern,  at  an  hour 
of  the  afternoon  when  it  was  crossed  by 
working  men  and  women  returning  to  their 
quarters  from  the  docks  and  factories. 
Never  in  any  light  a  picturesque  or  even 
cheery  procession,  there  were  days  when  its 
unwholesome,  monotonous  poverty  and  dull 
hopelessness  of  prospect  impressed  him 
more  forcibly.  He  remembered  how  at 
first  the  spectacle  of  barefooted  girls  and 
women  slipping  through  fog  and  mist  across 
the  greasy  pavement  had  offended  his  fresh 
New  World  conception  of  a  more  tenderly 
nurtured  sex,  until  his  susceptibilities 
seemed  to  have  grown  as  callous  and  hard- 
ened as  the  flesh  he  looked  upon,  and  he 
had  begun  to  regard  them  from  the  easy 
local  standpoint  of  a  distinct  and  differently 
equipped  class. 

It  chanced,  also,  that  this  afternoon  some 
of  the  male  workers  had  added  to  their 
usual  solidity  a  singular  trance-like  intox- 
ication. It  had  often  struck  him  before 
as  a  form  of  drunkenness  peculiar  to  the 
St.  Kentigern  laborers.  Men  passed  him 


192      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

singly  and  silently,  as  if  following  some 
vague  alcoholic  dream,  or  moving  through 
some  Scotch  mist  of  whiskey  and  water. 
Others  clung  unsteadily  but  as  silently  to- 
gether, with  no  trace  of  convivial  fellow- 
ship or  hilarity  in  their  dull  fixed  features 
and  mechanically  moving  limbs.  There 
was  something  weird  in  this  mirthless  com- 
panionship, and  the  appalling  loneliness  of 
those  fixed  or  abstracted  eyes.  Suddenly 
he  was  aware  of  two  men  who  were  reeling 
toward  him  under  the  influence  of  this 
drug-like  intoxication,  and  he  was  startled 
by  a  likeness  which  one  of  them  bore  to 
some  one  he  had  seen ;  but  where,  and  un- 
der what  circumstances,  he  could  not  deter- 
mine. The  fatuous  eye,  the  features  of 
complacent  vanity  and  self-satisfied  reverie 
were  there,  either  intensified  by  drink,  or 
perhaps  suggesting  it  through  some  other 
equally  hopeless  form  of  hallucination.  He 
turned  and  followed  the  man,  trying  to 
identify  him  through  his  companion,  who 
appeared  to  be  a  petty  tradesman  of  a 
shrewder,  more  material  type.  But  in 
vain,  and  as  the  pair  turned  into  a  side 
street  the  consul  slowly  retraced  his  steps. 
But  he  had  not  proceeded  far  before  the 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      193 

recollection  that  had  escaped  him  returned, 
and  he  knew  that  the  likeness  suggested  by 
the  face  he  had  seen  was  that  of  Malcolm 
McHulish. 

III. 

A  journey  to  Kelpie  Island  consisted  of 
a  series  of  consecutive  episodes  by  rail,  by 
coach,  and  by  steamboat.  The  consul  was 
already  familiar  with  them,  as  indeed  were 
most  of  the  civilized  world,  for  it  seemed 
that  all  roads  at  certain  seasons  led  out  of 
and  returned  to  St.  Kentigern  as  a  point  in 
a  vast  circle  wherein  travelers  were  sure  to 
meet  one  another  again,  coming  or  going, 
at  certain  depots  and  caravansaries  with 
more  or  less  superiority  or  envy.  Tourists 
on  the  road  to  the  historic  crags  of  Wateffa 
came  sharply  upon  other  tourists  returning 
from  them,  and  glared  suspiciously  at  them, 
as  if  to  wrest  the  dread  secret  from  their 
souls  —  a  scrutiny  which  the  others  returned 
with  half -humorous  pity  or  superior  calm. 

The  consul  knew,  also,  that  the  service  by 
boat  and  rail  was  admirable  and  skillful; 
for  were  not  the  righteous  St.  Kentigerners 
of  the  tribe  of  Tubal-cain,  great  artificers 
in  steel  and  iron,  and  a  mighty  race  of  en- 


194      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

gineers  before  the  Lord,  who  had  carried 
their  calling  and  accent  beyond  the  seas? 
He  knew,  too,  that  the  land  of  these  de- 
lightful caravansaries  overflowed  with  mar- 
malade and  honey,  and  that  the  manna  of 
delicious  scones  and  cakes  fell  even  upon 
deserted  waters  of  crag  and  heather.  He 
knew  that  their  way  would  lie  through 
much  scenery  whose  rude  barrenness,  and 
grim  economy  of  vegetation,  had  been 
usually  accepted  by  cockney  tourists  for 
sublimity  and  grandeur;  but  he  knew,  also, 
that  its  severity  was  mitigated  by  lowland 
glimpses  of  sylvan  luxuriance  and  tangled 
delicacy  utterly  unlike  the  complacent  snug- 
ness  of  an  English  pastoral  landscape,  with 
which  it  was  often  confounded  and  misun- 
derstood, as  being  tame  and  civilized. 

It  rained  the  day  they  left  St.  Kentigern, 
and  the  next,  and  the  day  after  that,  spas- 
modically, as  regarded  local  effort,  sporadi- 
cally, as  seen  through  the  filmed  windows 
of  railway  carriages  or  from  the  shining 
decks  of  steamboats.  There  was  always  a 
shower  being  sown  somewhere  along  the 
valley,  or  reluctantly  tearing  itself  from  a 
mountain-top,  or  being  pulled  into  long 
threads  from  the  leaden  bosom  of  a  lake; 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      195 

the  coach  swept  in  and  out  of  them  to 
the  folding  and  unfolding  of  umbrellas  and 
mackintoshes,  accompanied  by  flying  beams 
of  sunlight  that  raced  with  the  vehicle  on 
long  hillsides,  and  vanished  at  the  turn  of 
the  road.  There  were  hat-lifting  scurries 
of  wind  down  the  mountain-side,  small 
tumults  in  little  lakes  below,  hysteric  ebul- 
litions on  mild,  melancholy  inland  seas, 
boisterous  passages  of  nearly  half  an  hour 
with  landings  on  tempestuous  miniature 
quays.  All  this  seen  through  wonderful 
aqueous  vapor,  against  a  background  of  sky 
darkened  at  times  to  the  depths  of  an  India 
ink  washed  sketch,  but  more  usually  blurred 
and  confused  on  the  surface  like  the  gray 
silhouette  of  a  child's  slate-pencil  drawing, 
half  rubbed  from  the  slate  by  soft  palms. 
Occasionally  a  rare  glinting  of  real  sun- 
shine on  a  distant  fringe  of  dripping  larches 
made  some  frowning  crest  appear  to  smile 
as  through  wet  lashes. 

Miss  Elsie  tucked  her  little  feet  under 
the  mackintosh.  "I  know,"  she  said  sadly, 
"I  should  get  web-footed  if  I  stayed  here 
long.  Why,  it 's  like  coming  down  from 
Ararat  just  after  the  deluge  cleared  up." 

Mrs.   Kirkby  suggested  that  if  the  sun 


196      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

would  only  shine  squarely  and  decently, 
like  a  Christian,  for  a  few  moments,  they 
could  see  the  prospect  better. 

The  consul  here  pointed  out  that  the 
admirers  of  Scotch  scenery  thought  that 
this  was  its  greatest  charm.  It  was  this 
misty  effect  which  made  it  so  superior  to 
what  they  called  the  vulgar  chromos  and 
sun-pictures  of  less  favored  lands. 

"You  mean  because  it  prevents  folks  from 
seeing  how  poor  the  view  really  is." 

The  consul  remarked  that  perhaps  dis- 
tance was  lacking.  As  to  the  sun  shining 
in  a  Christian  way,  this  might  depend  upon 
the  local  idea  of  Christianity. 

"Well,  I  don't  call  the  scenery  giddy 
or  frivolous,  certainly.  And  I  reckon  I 
begin  to  understand  the  kind  of  sermons 
Malcolm's  folks  brought  over  to  MacCorkle- 
ville.  I  guess  they  did  n't  know  much  of 
the  heaven  they  only  saw  once  a  year. 
Why,  even  the  highest  hills  —  which  they 
call  mountains  here  —  ain't  big  enough  to 
get  above  the  fogs  of  their  own  creating." 

Feminine  wit  is  not  apt  to  be  abstract. 
It  struck  the  consul  that  in  Miss  Elsie's 
sprightliness  there  was  the  usual  ulterior 
and  personal  object,  and  he  glanced  around 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      197 

at  his  fellow-passengers.  The  object  evi- 
dently was  sitting  at  the  end  of  the  opposite 
seat,  an  amused  but  well-behaved  listener. 
For  the  rest,  he  was  still  young  and  re- 
served, but  in  face,  figure,  and  dress  ut- 
terly unlike  his  companions,  —  an  English- 
man of  a  pronounced  and  distinct  type,  the 
man  of  society  and  clubs.  While  there 
was  more  or  less  hinting  of  local  influence 
in  the  apparel  of  the  others,  —  there  was 
a  kilt,  and  bare,  unweather-beaten  knees 
from  Birmingham,  and  even  the  American 
Elsie  wore  a  bewitching  tam-o'-shanter,  — 
the  stranger  carried  easy  distinction,  from 
his  tweed  traveling-cap  to  his  well-made 
shoes  and  gaiters,  as  an  unmistakable 
Southerner.  His  deep  and  pleasantly  level 
voice  had  been  heard  only  once  or  twice, 
and  then  only  in  answering  questions,  and 
his  quiet,  composed  eyes  alone  had  re- 
sponded to  the  young  girl's  provocation. 

They  were  passing  a  brown  glen,  in  the 
cheerless  depths  of  which  a  brown  water- 
course, a  shade  lighter,  was  running,  and 
occasionally  foaming  like  brown  beer.  Be- 
yond it  heaved  an  arid  bulk  of  hillside, 
the  scant  vegetation  of  which,  scattered 
like  patches  of  hair,  made  it  look  like  the 


198      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

decaying  hide  of  some  huge  antediluvian 
ruminant.  On  the  dreariest  part  of  the 
dreary  slope  rose  the  ruins  of  a  tower,  and 
crumbling  walls  and  battlements. 

"Whatever  possessed  folks  to  build 
there?"  said  Miss  Elsie.  "If  they  were 
poor,  it  might  be  some  excuse;  but  that 
those  old  swells,  or  chiefs,  should  put  up  a 
castle  in  such  a  God-forsaken  place  gets 
me." 

"But  don't  you  know,  they  were  poor, 
according  to  our  modern  ideas,  and  I  fancy 
they  built  these  things  more  for  defense 
than  show,  and  really  more  to  gather  in 
cattle  —  like  one  of  your  Texan  ranches  — 
after  a  raid.  That  is,  I  have  heard  so ;  I 
rather  fancy  that  was  the  idea,  wasn't  it?" 
It  was  the  Englishman  who  had  spoken, 
and  was  now  looking  around  at  the  other 
passengers  as  if  in  easy  deference  to  local 
opinion. 

"What  raid?"  said  Miss  Elsie,  ani- 
matedly. "Oh,  yes;  I  see  —  one  of  their 
old  border  raids  —  moss-troopers.  I  used 
to  like  to  read  about  them." 

"I  fancy,  don't  you  know,"  said  the 
Englishman  slowly,  "that  it  wasn't  exactly 
that  sort  of  thing,  you  know,  for  it 's  a 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      199 

good  way  from  the  border;  but  it  was  one 
of  their  raids  upon  their  neighbors,  to  lift 
their  cattle  —  steal  'em,  in  fact.  That  's 
the  way  those  chaps  had.  But  of  course 
you  've  read  all  about  that.  You  Ameri- 
cans, don't  you  know,  are  all  up  in  these 
historical  matters." 

"Eh,  but  they  were  often  reprisals,^  said 
a  Scotch  passenger. 

"I  don't  suppose  they  took  much  trouble 
to  inquire  if  the  beasts  belonged  to  an  en- 
emy," said  the  Englishman. 

But  here  Miss  Elsie  spoke  of  castles  gen- 
erally, and  averred  that  the  dearest  wish 
of  her  life  was  to  see  Macbeth 's  castle  at 
Glamis,  where  Duncan  was  murdered.  At 
which  the  Englishman,  still  deferentially, 
mistrusted  the  fact  that  the  murder  had 
been  committed  there,  and  thought  that  the 
castle  to  which  Shakespeare  probably  re- 
ferred, if  he  hadn't  invented  the  murder, 
too,  was  farther  north,  at  Cawdor.  "You 
know,"  he  added  playfully,  "over  there  in 
America  you  've  discovered  that  Shake- 
speare himself  was  an  invention." 

This  led  to  some  retaliating  brilliancy 
from  the  young  lady,  and  when  the  coach 
stopped  at  the  next  station  their  conver- 


200      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

sation  had  presumably  become  interesting 
enough  to  justify  him  in  securing  a  seat 
nearer  to  her.  The  talk  returning  to  ruins, 
Miss  Elsie  informed  him  that  they  were 
going  to  see  some  on  Kelpie  Island.  The 
consul,  from  some  instinctive  impulse,  — 
perhaps  a  recollection  of  Ouster's  peculiar 
methods,  —  gave  her  a  sign  of  warning. 
But  the  Englishman  only  lifted  his  eye- 
brows in  a  kind  of  half -humorous  concern. 

"I  don't  think  you  'd  like  it,  you  know. 
It 's  a  beastly  place,  —  rocks  and  sea,  — 
worse  than  this,  and  half  the  time  you 
can't  see  the  mainland,  only  a  mile  away. 
Really,  you  know,  they  oughtn't  to  have 
induced  you  to  take  tickets  there  —  those 
excursion  -  ticket  chaps.  They  're  jolly 
frauds.  It  's  no  place  for  a  stranger  to 
goto." 

"But  there  are  the  ruins  of  an  old  castle, 
the  old  seat  of "  -  began  the  astonished 
Miss  Elsie ;  but  she  was  again  stopped  by 
a  significant  glance  from  the  consul. 

"I  believe  there  was  something  of  the 
kind  there  once  —  something  like  your 
friends  the  cattle -stealers'  castle  over  on 
that  hillside,"  returned  the  Englishman; 
"but  the  stones  were  taken  by  the  fisher- 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      201 

men  for  their  cabins,  and  the  walls  were 
quite  pulled  down." 

"  How  dared  they  do  that  ? "  said  the 
young  lady  indignantly.  "I  call  it  not  only 
sacrilege,  but  stealing." 

"  It  was  defrauding  the  owner  of  the  prop- 
erty; they  might  as  well  take  his  money," 
said  Mrs.  Kirkby,  in  languid  protest. 

The  smile  which  this  outburst  of  proprie- 
torial indignation  brought  to  the  face  of 
the  consul  lingered  with  the  Englishman's 
reply. 

"But  it  was  only  robbing  the  old  rob- 
bers, don't  you  know,  and  they  put  their 
spoils  to  better  use  than  their  old  masters 
did;  certainly  to  more  practical  use  than 
the  owners  do  now,  for  the  ruins  are  good 
for  nothing." 

"But  the  hallowed  associations  —  the 
picturesqueness ! "  continued  Mrs.  Kirkby, 
with  languid  interest. 

"The  associations  wouldn't  be  anything 
except  to  the  family,  you  know;  and  I 
should  fancy  they  wouldn't  be  either  hal- 
lowed or  pleasant.  As  for  picturesqueness, 
the  ruins  are  beastly  ugly;  weather-beaten 
instead  of  being  mellowed  by  time,  you 
know,  and  bare  where  they  ought  to  be  hid- 


202      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

den  by  vines  and  moss.  I  can't  make  out 
why  anybody  sent  you  there,  for  you  Ameri- 
cans are  rather  particular  about  your  sight- 
seeing." 

"We  heard  of  them  through  a  friend," 
said  the  consul,  with  assumed  carelessness. 
"Perhaps  it 's  as  good  an  excuse  as  any  for 
a  pleasant  journey." 

"And  very  likely  your  friend  mistook 
it  for  something  else,  or  was  himself  im- 
posed upon,"  said  the  Englishman  politely. 
"But  you  might  not  think  it  so,  and,  after 
all,"  he  added  thoughtfully,  "it's  years 
since  I  've  seen  it.  I  only  meant  that  I 
could  show  you  something  better  a  few 
miles  from  my  place  in  Gloucestershire, 
and  not  quite  so  far  from  a  railway  as  this. 
If,"  he  added  with  a  pleasant  deliberation 
which  was  the  real  courtesy  of  his  conven- 
tionally worded  speech,  "you  ever  happened 
at  any  time  to  be  anywhere  near  Audrey 
Edge,  and  would  look  me  up,  I  should  be 
glad  to  show  it  to  you  and  your  friends." 
An  hour  later,  when  he  left  them  at  a  rail- 
way station  where  their  paths  diverged, 
Miss  Elsie  recovered  a  fluency  that  she  had 
lately  checked.  "Well,  I  like  that!  He 
never  told  us  his  name,  or  offered  a  card.  I 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      203 

wonder  if  they  call  that  an  invitation  over 
here.  Does  he  suppose  anybody  's  going  to 
look  up  his  old  Audrey  Edge  —  perhaps  it 's 
named  after  his  wife  —  to  find  out  who  he 
is?  He  might  have  been  civil  enough  to 
have  left  his  name,  if  he  —  meant  any- 
thing." 

"But  I  assure  you  he  was  perfectly  sin- 
cere, and  meant  an  invitation, "returned  the 
consul  smilingly.  "Audrey  Edge  is  evi- 
dently a  well-known  place,  and  he  a  man  of 
some  position.  That  is  why  he  didn't  spe- 
cify either." 

"Well,  you  won't  catch  me  going  there," 
said  Miss  Elsie. 

"  You  would  be  quite  right  in  either  going 
or  staying  away,"  said  the  consul  simply. 

Miss  Elsie  tossed  her  head  slightly.  Nev- 
ertheless, before  they  left  the  station,  she 
informed  him  that  she  had  been  told  that 
the  station-master  had  addressed  the  stranger 
as  "my  lord,"  and  that  another  passenger 
had  said  he  was  "Lord  Duncaster." 

"And  that  proves  " 

".That  I  'm  right,"  said  the  young  lady 
decisively,  "and  that  his  invitation  was  a 
mere  form." 

It  was  after  sundown  when  they  reached 


204      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

the  picturesque  and  well-appointed  hotel 
that  lifted  itself  above  the  little  fishing- 
village  which  fronted  Kelpie  Island.  The 
hotel  was  in  as  strong  contrast  to  the  nar- 
row, curving  street  of  dull,  comfortless- 
looking  stone  cottages  below  it,  as  were  the 
smart  tourists  who  had  just  landed  from 
the  steamer  to  the  hard-visaged,  roughly 
clad  villagers  who  watched  them  with  a  cer- 
tain mingling  of  critical  independence  and 
superior  self  -  righteousness.  As  the  new 
arrivals  walked  down  the  main  street,  half 
beach,  half  thoroughfare,  their  baggage  fol- 
lowing them  in  low  trolleys  drawn  by  por- 
ters at  their  heels,  like  a  decorous  funeral, 
the  joyless  faces  of  the  lookers-on  added  to 
the  resemblance.  Beyond  them,  in  the  pro- 
longed northern  twilight,  the  waters  of  the 
bay  took  on  a  peculiar  pewtery  brightness, 
but  with  the  usual  mourning-edged  border 
of  Scotch  seacoast  scenery.  Low  banks  of 
cloud  lay  on  the  chill  sea;  the  outlines  of 
Kelpie  Island  were  hidden. 

But  the  interior  of  the  hotel,  bright  with 
the  latest  fastidiousness  in  modern  decora- 
tion and  art-furniture,  and  gay  with  pictured 
canvases  and  color,  seemed  to  mock  the 
sullen  landscape,  and  the  sterile  crags  amid 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      205 

which  the  building  was  set.  An  attempt  to 
make  a  pleasance  in  this  barren  waste  had 
resulted  only  in  empty  vases,  bleak  statuary, 
and  iron  settees,  as  cold  and  slippery  to  the 
touch  as  the  sides  of  their  steamer. 

"It'll  be  a  fine  morning  to-morra,  and 
ther  '11  be  a  boat  going  away  to  Kelpie  for 
a  peekneek  in  the  ruins,"  said  the  porter,  as 
the  consul  and  his  fair  companions  looked 
doubtfully  from  the  windows  of  the  cheerful 
hall. 

A  picnic  in  the  sacred  ruins  of  Kelpie! 
The  consul  saw  the  ladies  stiffening  with  in- 
dignation at  this  trespass  upon  their  possible 
rights  and  probable  privileges,  and  glanced 
at  them  warningly. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  it  is  common 
property,  and  anybody  can  go  there?"  de- 
manded Miss  Elsie  scornfully. 

"No;  it's  only  the  hotel  that  owns  the 
boat  and  gives  the  tickets  —  a  half-crown 
the  passage." 

"And  do  the  owners,  the  McHulishes, 
permit  this?" 

The  porter  looked  at  them  with  a  puz- 
zled, half -pitying  politeness.  He  was  a 
handsome,  tall,  broad-shouldered  young  fel- 
low, with  a  certain  naive  and  gentle  courtesy 


206      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

of  manner  that  relieved  his  strong  accent. 
"  Oh,  ay,"  he  said,  with  a  reassuring 
smile;  "ye  '11  no  be  troubled  by  them.  I  '11 
just  gang  away  noo,  and  see  if  I  can  secure 
the  teekets." 

An  elderly  guest,  who  was  examining  a 
time-table  on  the  wall,  turned  to  them  as 
the  porter  disappeared. 

"Ye  '11  be  strangers  noo,  and  not  know- 
ing that  Tonalt  the  porter  is  a  McHulish 
hissel'  ?  "  he  said  deliberately. 

"A  what?"  said  the  astonished  Miss 
Elsie. 

"A  McHulish.  Ay,  one  of  the  family. 
The  McHulishes  of  Kelpie  were  his  own 
forebears.  Eh,  but  he  's  a  fine  lad,  and 
doin'  well  for  the  hotel." 

Miss  Elsie  extinguished  a  sudden  smile 
with  her  handkerchief  as  her  mother  anx- 
iously inquired,  "And  are  the  family  as 
poor  as  that?  " 

"But  I  am  not  saying  he  's^oor,  ma'am, 
no,"  replied  the  stranger,  with  native  cau- 
tion. "What  wi'  tips  and  gratooities  and 
percentages  on  the  teekets,  it  's  a  bit  of 
money  he  '11  be  having  in  the  bank  noo." 

The  prophecy  of  Donald  McHulish  as  to 
the  weather  came  true.  The  next  morning 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      207 

was  bright  and  sunny,  and  the  boat  to  Kel- 
pie Island  —  a  large  yawl  —  duly  received 
its  complement  of  passengers  and  provision 
hampers.  The  ladies  had  apparently  be- 
come more  tolerant  of  their  fellow  pleasure- 
seekers,  and  it  appeared  that  Miss  Elsie 
had  even  overcome  her  hilarity  at  the  dis- 
covery of  what  "might  have  been"  a  rela- 
tive in  the  person  of  the  porter  Donald. 
"I  had  a  long  talk  with  him  before  break- 
fast this  morning,"  she  said  gayly,  "and  I 
know  all  about  him.  It  appears  that  there 
are  hundreds  of  him  —  all  McHulishes  — 
all  along  the  coast  and  elsewhere  —  only 
none  of  them  ever  lived  on  the  island,  and 
don't  want  to.  But  he  looks  more  like  a 
'laird '  and  a  chief  than  Malcolm,  and  if  it 
comes  to  choosing  a  head  of  the  family,  re- 
member, maw,  I  shall  vote  solid  for  him." 

"How  can  you  go  on  so,  Elsie?"  said 
Mrs.  Kirkby,  with  languid  protest.  "Only 
I  trust  you  didn't  say  anything  to  him  of 
the  syndicate.  And,  thank  Heaven !  the 
property  isn't  here." 

"No;  the  waiter  tells  me  all  the  lovely 
things  we  had  for  breakfast  came  from 
miles  away.  And  they  don't  seem  to  have 
ever  raised  anything  on  the  island,  from 


208      The,  Heir  of  the  McHulisltes. 

its  looks.  Think  of  having  to  row  three 
miles  for  the  morning's  milk!  " 

There  was  certainly  very  little  appearance 
of  vegetation  on  the  sterile  crags  that  soon 
began  to  lift  themselves  above  the  steely 
waves  ahead.  A  few  scraggy  trees  and 
bushes,  which  twisted  and  writhed  like 
vines  around  the  square  tower  and  crum- 
bling walls  of  an  irregular  but  angular 
building,  looked  in  their  brown  shadows 
like  part  of  the  debris. 

"It 's  just  like  a  burnt-down  bone-boiling 
factory,"  said  Miss  Elsie  critically;  "  and 
I  should  n't  wonder  if  that  really  was  old 
McHulish's  business.  They  could  n't  have 
it  on  the  mainland  for  its  being  a  nui- 
sance." 

Nevertheless,  she  was  one  of  the  first  to 
leap  ashore  when  the  yawl's  bow  grated  in 
a  pebbly  cove,  and  carried  her  pretty  but 
incongruous  little  slippers  through  the  sea- 
weed, wet  sand,  and  slimy  cobbles  with 
a  heroism  that  redeemed  her  vanity.  A 
scrambling  ascent  of  a  few  moments 
brought  them  to  a  wall  with  a  gap  in  it, 
which  gave  easy  ingress  to  the  interior  of 
the  ruins.  This  was  merely  a  little  curv- 
ing hollow  from  which  the  outlines  of  the 


The  Heir  of  the  Mcffulishes.      209 

plan  had  long  since  faded.  It  was  kept 
green  by  the  brown  walls,  which,  like  the 
crags  of  the  mainland  valleys,  sheltered  it 
from  the  incessant  strife  of  the  Atlantic 
gales.  A  few  pale  flowers  that  might  have 
grown  in  a  damp  cellar  shivered  against 
the  stones.  Scraps  of  newspapers,  soda- 
water  and  beer  bottles,  highly  decorated 
old  provision  tins,  and  spent  cartridge 
cases,  —  the  remains  of  chilly  picnics  and 
damp  shooting  luncheons,  —  had  at  first 
sight  lent  color  to  the  foreground  by  mere 
contrast,  but  the  corrosion  of  time  and 
weather  had  blackened  rather  than  mellowed 
the  walls  in  a  way  which  forcibly  reminded 
the  consul  of  Miss  Elsie's  simile  of  the 
"burnt -down  factory."  The  view  from 
the  square  tower  —  a  mere  roost  for  unclean 
sea-fowl,  from  the  sides  of  which  rags  of 
peeling  moss  and  vine  hung  like  tattered 
clothing  —  was  equally  depressing.  The 
few  fishermen's  huts  along  the  shore  were 
built  of  stones  taken  from  the  ruin,  and 
roofed  in  with  sodden  beams  and  timbers 
in  the  last  stages  of  deliquescence.  The 
thick  smoke  of  smouldering  peat-fires  came 
from  the  low  chimneys,  and  drifted  across 
the  ruins  with  the  odors  of  drying  fish. 


210      IV  Heir  of  tic  Jfcffmlisb*. 

~I  "re  just  seen  a  sort  of  ground-plan  of 
the  easde,"  said  Miss  Elsie  cheerfully. 
~It  ai  in  lad  a  loom  in  it  as  big  as  oor 
in  the  hotel  and  there  were  n't 
to  1  round.  A.  sfit  in 
wide  by  two  feet 
extravagance 

Malcolm's   ancestors.     I   don't  wonder 
of  'OR  broke  out  and  swam  orer  to 


over  from  the  hotel 
t  to  see 


Miss  Elsie,  setting 
"It  ?s  Mr.  Cus- 
with  her  now 
They  Ilbehei 


He  looked  up,  and  saw  that  Miss 


-To.  know  Mr.  Ci 

*•  We  are  eld  California. 


lit  Heir  of  tiu  Mrffmliskc*.      -211 
"I  tibM^ft  »;  fc*  I  Hide  he  looked  a 


He  certainly  was  a  little  awkwanL  as  if 


with  Mrs.   Kirkby.     Bat  the 

and    die   fitfb   party  we 
|in  !•  nllj  nrjiijiar;  fhrir  wrll  irVrtrd  luarib 
earn  with  the  wholesome  appetite  of  travel 
and  change.     He 

die 
the 


tore  cyclones  of  the  tarn  paper  and  dried 
twigs  around  them:  but  U*y  ate, 
and  woe  merry.     At  the  e»d  of  the 

in  the  lee  of  As  walL 

"I    iHH'Hii    J**  kOT  afl  about  Mat 
cohn?^    said    Cuter,   after 
pause. 

MMy  dear  fdlow,"  said  the 

and  you  oo^ht  to  IOOT  Hat  by 


212      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

"I  thought  your  friend,  Sir  James,  might 
have  told  you,"  continued  Ouster,  with  sig- 
nificant emphasis. 

"I  have  not  seen  Sir  James  for  two 
months." 

"Well,  Malcolm  's  a  crank  —  always 
was  one,  I  reckon,  and  is  reg'larly  off  his 
head  now.  Yes,  sir;  Scotch  whiskey  and 
your  friend  Sir  James  finished  him.  After 
that  dinner  at  MacFen's  he  was  done  for  — 
went  wild.  Danced  a  sword-dance,  or  a 
strathspey,  or  some  other  blamed  thing,  on 
the  table,  and  yelled  louder  than  the  pipes. 
So  they  all  did.  Jack,  I  've  painted  the 
town  red  once  myself;  I  thought  I  knew 
what  a  first-class  jamboree  was:  but  they 
were  prayer-meetings  to  that  show.  Every- 
body was  blind  drunk  —  but  they  all  got 
over  it  except  him.  They  were  a  different 
lot  of  men  the  next  day,  as  cool  and  cau- 
tious as  you  please,  but  he  was  shut  up  for 
a  week,  and  came  out  crazy." 

"But  what  's  that  to  do  with  his  claim?" 

"Well,  there  ain't  much  use  'whooping 
up  the  boys '  when  only  the  whooper  gets 
wild." 

"  Still,  that  does  not  affect  any  right  he 
may  have  in  the  property." 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      213 

"But  it  affects  the  syndicate,"  said  Cus- 
ter  gloomily;  "and  when  we  found  that  he 
was  whooping  up  some  shopkeepers  and 
factory  hands  who  claimed  to  belong  to  the 
clan, — and  you  can't  heave  a  stone  at  a 
dog  around  here  without  hitting  a  McHu- 
lish, — we  concluded  we  hadn't  much  use 
for  him  ornamentally.  So  we  shipped  him 
home  last  steamer." 

"And  the  property?" 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Custer,  still 
gloomily.  "We  've  effected  an  amicable 
compromise,  as  Sir  James  eatts  it.  That 
means  we  've  taken  a  lot  of  land  somewhere 
north,  that  you  can  shoot  over  —  that  is, 
you  needn't  be  afraid  of  hitting  a  house, 
or  a  tree,  or  a  man  anywhere ;  and  we  've 
got  a  strip  more  of  the  same  sort  on  the 
seashore  somewhere  off  here,  occupied  only 
by  some  gay  galoots  called  crofters,  and 
you  can  raise  a  lawsuit  and  an  imprecation 
on  every  acre.  Then  there  's  this  soul- 
subduing,  sequestered  spot,  and  what 's  left 
of  the  old  bone -boiling  establishment,  and 
the  rights  of  fishing  and  peat-burning,  and 
otherwise  creating  a  nuisance  off  the  main- 
land. It  cost  the  syndicate  only  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  half  cash  and  half  in 


214      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

Texan  and  Kentucky  grass  lands.  But 
we  've  carried  the  thing  through." 

"I  congratulate  you,"  said  the  consul. 

"Thanks."  Custer  puffed  at  his  cigar 
for  a  few  moments.  "That  Sir  James 
MacFen  is  a  fine  man." 

"He  is." 

"A  large,  broad,  all-round  man.  Knows 
everything  and  everybody,  don't  he?  " 

"I  think  so." 

"Big  man  in  the  church,  I  should  say? 
No  slouch  at  a  party  canvass,  or  ward  poli- 
tics, eh?  As  a  board  director,  or  presi- 
dent, just  takes  the  cake,  don't  he?  " 

"I  believe  so." 

"Nothing  mean  about  Jimmy  as  an  ad- 
vocate or  an  arbitrator,  either,  is  there? 
Rings  the  bell  every  time,  don't  he?  Fi- 
nanciers take  a  back  seat  when  he  's 
around?  Owns  half  of  Scotland  by  this 
time,  I  reckon." 

The  consul  believed  that  Sir  James  had 
the  reputation  of  being  exceedingly  saga- 
cious in  financial  and  mercantile  matters, 
and  that  he  was  a  man  of  some  wealth. 

"Naturally.  I  wonder  what  he  'd  take 
to  come  over  to  America,  and  give  the 
boys  points,"  continued  Custer,  in  medita- 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      215 

tive  admiration.  "  There  were  two  or  three 
men  on  Scott's  River,  and  one  Chinaman, 
that  we  used  to  think  smart,  but  they  were 
doddering  ijuts  to  him.  And  as  for  me  — 
I  say,  Jack,  you  did  n't  see  any  hayseed  in 
my  hair  that  day  I  walked  inter  your  con- 
sulate, did  you?  " 

The  consul  smilingly  admitted  that  he 
had  not  noticed  these  signs  of  rustic  inno- 
cence in  his  friend. 

"Nor  any  flies?  Well,  for  all  that,  when 
I  get  home  I  'm  going  to  resign.  No  more 
foreign  investments  for  me.  When  anybody 
calls  at  the  consulate  and  asks  for  H.  J. 
Ouster,  say  you  don't  know  me.  And  you 
don't.  And  I  say,  Jack,  try  to  smooth 
things  over  for  me  with  her." 

"With  Miss  Elsie?" 

Custer  cast  a  glance  of  profound  pity 
upon  the  consul.  "No;  with  Mrs.  Kirkby, 
of  course.  See?" 

The  consul  thought  he  did  see,  and  that 
he  had  at  last  found  a  clue  to  Ouster's 
extraordinary  speculation.  But,  like  most 
theorists  who  argue  from  a  single  fact,  a 
few  months  later  he  might  have  doubted  his 
deduction. 

He  was  staying  at  a  large  country-house 


216      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

many  miles  distant  from  the  scene  of  his 
late  experiences.  Already  they  had  faded 
from  his  memory  with  the  departure  of  his 
compatriots  from  St.  Kentigern.  He  was 
smoking  by  the  fire  in  the  billiard-room  late 
one  night  when  a  fellow-guest  approached 
him. 

"Saw  you  didn't  remember  me  at  din- 
ner." 

The  voice  was  hesitating,  pleasant,  and 
not  quite  unfamiliar.  The  consul  looked 
up,  and  identified  the  figure  before  him  as 
one  of  the  new  arrivals  that  day,  whom,  in 
the  informal  and  easy  courtesy  of  the  house, 
he  had  met  with  no  further  introduction 
than  a  vague  smile.  He  remembered,  too, 
that  the  stranger  had  glanced  at  him  once 
or  twice  at  dinner,  with  shy  but  engaging 
reserve. 

"You  must  see  such  a  lot  of  people,  and 
the  way  things  are  arranged  and  settled 
here  everybody  expects  to  look  and  act  like 
everybody  else,  don't  you  know,  so  you 
can't  tell  one  chap  from  another.  Deuced 
annoying,  eh?  That  's  where  you  Ameri- 
cans are  different,  and  that  's  why  those 
countrywomen  of  yours  were  so  charming, 
don't  you  know,  so  original.  We  were  all 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      217 

together  on  the  top  of  a  coach  in  Scotland, 
don't  you  remember?  Had  such  a  jolly 
time  in  the  beastly  rain.  You  did  n't  catch 
my  name.  It 's  Duncaster." 

The  consul  at  once  recalled  his  former 
fellow- traveler.  The  two  men  shook  hands. 
The  Englishman  took  a  pipe  from  his  smok- 
ing-jacket,  and  drew  a  chair  beside  the 
consul. 

"Yes,"  he  continued,  comfortably  filling 
his  pipe,  "the  daughter,  Miss  Kirkby,  was 
awfully  good  fun;  so  fresh,  so  perfectly 
natural  and  innocent,  don't  you  know,  and 
yet  so  extraordinarily  sharp  and  clever. 
She  had  some  awfully  good  chaff  over  that 
Scotch  scenery  before  those  Scotch  tour- 
ists, do  you  remember?  And  it  was  all  so 
beastly  true,  too.  Perhaps  she  's  with  you 
here?" 

There  was  so  much  unexpected  and  unaf- 
fected interest  in  the  young  Englishman's 
eyes  that  the  consul  was  quite  serious  in  his 
regrets  that  the  ladies  had  gone  back  to 
Paris. 

"I  'd  like  to  have  taken  them  over  to 
Audrey  Edge  from  here.  It 's  no  distance 
by  train.  I  did  ask  them  in  Scotland,  but 
I  suppose  they  had  something  better  to  do. 


218      Ttie  Heir  of  the  Mcffulishes. 

But  you  might  tell  them  I  've  got  some  sis- 
ters there,  and  that  it  is  an  old  place  and 
not  half  bad,  don't  you  know,  when  you 
write  to  them.  You  might  give  me  their 
address." 

The  consul  did  so,  and  added  a  few  pleas- 
ant words  regarding  their  position,  —  bar- 
ring the  syndicate,  —  which  he  had  gathered 
from  Custer.  Lord  Duncaster's  look  of 
interest,  far  from  abating,  became  gently 
confidential. 

"I  suppose  you  must  see  a  good  deal  of 
your  countrymen  in  your  business,  and  I 
suppose,  just  like  Englishmen,  they  differ, 
by  Jove !  Some  of  them,  don't  you  know, 
are  rather  pushing  and  anxious  for  position, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing ;  and  some  of  'em, 
like  your  friends,  are  quite  independent  and 
natural." 

He  stopped,  and  puffed  slowly  at  his 
pipe.  Presently  he  took  it  from  his 
mouth,  with  a  little  laugh.  "I've  a  mind 
to  tell  you  a  rather  queer  experience  of 
mine.  It  's  nothing  against  your  people 
generally,  you  know,  nor  do  I  fancy  it  's 
even  an  American  type;  so  you  won't  mind 
my  speaking  of  it.  I  've  got  some  property 
in  Scotland,  —  rather  poor  stuff  you  'd  call 


The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes.      219 

it,  —  but,  by  Jove !  some  Americans  have 
been  laying  claim  to  it  under  some  obscure 
plea  of  relationship.  There  might  have 
been  something  in  it,  although  not  all  they 
claim,  but  my  business  man,  a  clever  chap 
up  in  your  place,  —  perhaps  you  may  have 
heard  of  him,  Sir  James  MacFen,  —  wrote 
to  me  that  what  they  really  wanted  were 
some  ancestral  lands  with  the  right  to  use 
the  family  name  and  privileges.  The  odd- 
est part  of  the  affair  was  that  the  claimant 
was  an  impossible  sort  of  lunatic,  and  the 
whole  thing  was  run  by  a  syndicate  of 
shrewd  Western  men.  As  I  don't  care  for 
the  property,  which  has  only  been  dropping 
a  lot  of  money  every  year  for  upkeep  and 
litigation,  Sir  James,  who  is  an  awfully 
far-sighted  chap  at  managing,  thought  he 
could  effect  a  compromise,  and  get  rid  of 
the  property  at  a  fair  valuation.  And,  by 
Jove !  he  did.  But  what  your  countrymen 
can  get  out  of  it, — for  the  shooting  isn't 
half  as  good  as  what  they  can  get  in  their 
own  country,  —  or  what  use  the  privileges 
are  to  them,  I  can't  fancy." 

"I  think  I  know  the  story,"  said  the 
consul,  eying  his  fellow-guest  attentively: 
"but  if  I  remember  rightly,  the  young  man 


220      The  Heir  of  the  McHulishes. 

claimed  to  be  the  rightful  and  only  surviv- 
ing heir." 

The  Englishman  rose,  and,  bending  over 
the  hearth,  slowly  knocked  the  ashes  from 
his  pipe.  "That's  quite  impossible,  don't 
you  know.  For,"  he  added,  as  he  stood  up 
in  front  of  the  fire  in  face,  figure,  and  care- 
less repose  more  decidedly  English  than 
ever,  "you  see  my  title  of  Duncaster  only 
came  to  me  through  an  uncle,  but  I  am  the 
direct  and  sole  heir  of  the  old  family,  and 
the  Scotch  property.  I  don't  perhaps  look 
like  a  Scot,  —  we ' ve  been  settled  in  Eng- 
land some  time,  — but,"  he  continued  with 
an  invincible  English  drawling  delibera- 
tion, "  / — am — really — you — know — what 
they  call  The  McHulish." 


AN   EPISODE  OF  WEST   WOODLANDS. 
I. 

THE  rain  was  dripping  monotonously 
from  the  scant  eaves  of  the  little  church  of 
the  Sidon  Brethren  at  West  Woodlands. 
Hewn  out  of  the  very  heart  of  &  thicket  of 
buckeye  spruce  and  alder,  unsunned  and 
unblown  upon  by  any  wind,  it  was  so  green 
and  unseasoned  in  its  solitude  that  it  seemed 
a  part  of  the  arboreal  growth,  and  on 
damp  Sundays  to  have  taken  root  again 
and  sprouted.  There  were  moss  and  shin- 
ing spots  on  the  underside  of  the  unplaned 
rafters,  little  green  pools  of  infusoria  stood 
on  the  ledge  of  the  windows  whose  panes 
were  at  times  suddenly  clouded  by  myste- 
rious unknown  breaths  from  without  or 
within.  It  was  oppressed  with  an  extrava- 
gance of  leaves  at  all  seasons,  whether  in 
summer,  when  green  and  limp  they  crowded 
the  porch,  doorways,  and  shutters,  or  when 
penetrating  knot-holes  and  interstices  of 
shingle  and  clapboard,  on  some  creeping 


222    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

vine,  they  unexpectedly  burst  and  bour- 
geoned on  the  walls  like  banners;  or  later, 
when  they  rotted  in  brown  heaps  in  corners, 
outlined  the  edges  of  the  floor  with  a  thin 
yellow  border,  or  invaded  the  ranks  of  the 
high -backed  benches  which  served  as  pews. 

There  had  been  a  continuous  rustling  at 
the  porch  and  the  shaking  out  of  water- 
proofs and  closing  of  umbrellas  until  the 
half-filled  church  was  already  redolent  of 
damp  dyes  and  the  sulphur  of  India  rubber. 
The  eyes  of  the  congregation  were  turned  to 
the  door  with  something  more  than  the  usual 
curiosity  and  expectation.  For  the  new 
revivalist  preacher  from  Horse  Shoe  Bay 
was  coming  that  morning.  Already  voices 
of  authority  were  heard  approaching,  and 
keeping  up  their  conversation  to  the  very 
door  of  the  sacred  edifice  in  marked  con- 
trast with  the  awed  and  bashful  whisper- 
ings in  the  porch  of  the  ordinary  congre- 
gation. The  worshipers  recognized  the 
voices  of  Deacons  Shad  well  and  Bradley; 
in  the  reverential  hush  of  the  building  they 
seemed  charged  with  undue  importance. 

"  It  was  set  back  in  the  road  for  quiet  in 
the  Lord's  work,"  said  Bradley. 

"Yes,  but  it  oughtn't  be  hidden!     Let 


An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands.    223 

your  light  so  shine  before  men,  you  know, 
Brother  Bradley,"  returned  a  deep  voice, 
unrecognized  and  unfamiliar  —  presumably 
that  of  the  newcomer. 

"It  wouldn't  take  much  to  move  it  —  on 
skids  and  rollers  —  nearer  to  the  road," 
suggested  Shadwell  tentatively. 

"No,  but  if  you  left  it  stranded  there  in 
the  wind  and  sun,  green  and  sappy  as  it  is 
now,  ye  'd  have  every  seam  and  crack  start- 
in'  till  the  ribs  shone  through,  and  no 
amount  of  calkin'  would  make  it  water- 
tight agin.  No ;  my  idea  is  —  clear  out  the 
brush  and  shadder  around  it!  Let  the 
light  shine  in  upon  it!  Make  the  waste 
places  glad  around  it,  hut  keep  it  there ! 
And  that 's  my  idea  o'  gen'ral  missionary 
work;  that  's  how  the  gospel  orter  be 
rooted." 

Here  the  bell,  which  from  the  plain  open 
four-posted  belfry  above  had  been  clanging 
with  a  metallic  sharpness  that  had  an  odd 
impatient  worldlihess  about  it,  suddenly 
ceased. 

"That  bell,"  said  Bradley 's  voice,  with 
the  same  suggestion  of  conveying  important 
truths  to  the  listening  congregation  within, 
"was  took  from  the  wreck  of  the  Tamalpais, 


224    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

Brother  Horley  bought  it  at  auction  at 
Horse  Shoe  Bay  and  presented  it.  You 
know  the  Tamalpais  ran  ashore  on  Skin- 
ner's Reef,  jest  off  here." 

"Yes,  with  plenty  of  sea  room,  not  half 
a  gale  o'  wind  blowing,  and  her  real  course 
fifty  miles  to  westward !  The  whole  watch 
must  have  drunk  or  sunk  in  slothful  idle- 
ness," returned  the  deep  voice  again.  A 
momentary  pause  followed,  and  then  the 
two  deacons  entered  the  church  with  the 
stranger. 

He  appeared  to  be  a  powerfully-built 
man,  with  a  square,  beardless  chin:  a  face 
that  carried  one  or  two  scars  of  smallpox 
and  a  deeper  one  of  a  less  peaceful  sugges- 
tion, set  in  a  complexion  weather-beaten  to 
the  color  of  Spanish  leather.  Two  small, 
moist  gray  eyes,  that  glistened  with  every 
emotion,  seemed  to  contradict  the  hard  ex- 
pression of  the  other  features.  He  was 
dressed  in  cheap  black,  like  the  two  dea- 
cons, with  the  exception  of  a  loose,  black 
alpaca  coat  and  the  usual  black  silk  neck- 
erchief tied  in  a  large  bow  under  a  turn- 
down collar,  —  the  general  sign  and  symbol 
of  a  minister  of  his  sect.  He  walked  di- 
rectly to  the  raised  platform  at  the  end  of 


An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands.    225 

the  chapel,  where  stood  a  table  011  which 
was  a  pitcher  of  water,  a  glass  and  hymn- 
book,  and  a  tall  upright  desk  holding  a 
Bible.  Glancing  over  these  details,  he 
suddenly  paused,  carefully  lifted  some  hith- 
erto undetected  object  from  the  desk  beside 
the  Bible,  and,  stooping  gently,  placed  it 
upon  the  floor.  As  it  hopped  away  the 
congregation  saw  that  it  was  a  staiall  green 
frog.  The  intrusion  was  by  no  means  an 
unusual  one,  but  some  odd  contrast  between 
this  powerful  man  and  the  little  animal 
affected  them  profoundly.  No  one  —  even 
the  youngest  —  smiled ;  every  one  —  even 
the  youngest  —  became  suddenly  attentive. 
Turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  hymn- 
book,  he  then  gave  out  the  first  two  lines 
of  a  hymn.  The  choir  accordion  in  the 
front  side  bench  awoke  like  an  infant  into 
wailing  life,  and  Cissy  Appleby,  soprano, 
took  up  a  little  more  musically  the  lugu- 
brious chant.  At  the  close  of  the  verse 
the  preacher  joined  in,  after  a  sailor  fash- 
ion, with  a  breezy  bass  that  seemed  to  fill 
the  little  building  with  the  trouble  of  the 
sea.  Then  followed  prayer  from  Deacon 
Shadwell,  broken  by  "Amens"  from  the 
preacher,  with  a  nautical  suggestion  of 


226    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

"Ay,   ay,"  about  them,   and  he  began  his 
sermon. 

It  was,  as  those  who  knew  his  methods 
might  have  expected,  a  suggestion  of  the 
conversation  they  had  already  overheard. 
He  likened  the  little  chapel,  choked  with 
umbrage  and  rotting  in  its  dampness,  to 
the  gospel  seed  sown  in  crowded  places, 
famishing  in  the  midst  of  plenty,  and  ster- 
ile from  the  absorptions  of  the  more  active 
life  around  it.  He  pointed  out  again  the 
true  work  of  the  pioneer  missionary;  the 
careful  pruning  and  elimination  of  those 
forces  that  grew  up  with  the  Christian's 
life, .  which  many  people  foolishly  believed 
were  a  part  of  it.  "The  World  must  live 
and  the  Word  must  live,"  said  they,  and 
there  were  easy-going  brethren  who  thought 
they  could  live  together.  But  he  warned 
them  that  the  World  was  always  closing 
upon  —  "shaddering  "  —and  strangling  the 
Word,  unless  kept  down,  and  that  "fair 
seemin'  settlement,"  or  city,  which  appeared 
to  be  "bustin'  and  bloomin'  "  with  life  and 
progress,  was  really  "hustlin*  and  jostlin' ' 
the  Word  of  God,  even  in  the  midst  of 
these  "fancy  spires  and  steeples"  it  had 
erected  to  its  glory.  It  was  the  work  of 


An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands.    227 

the  missionary  pioneer  to  keep  down  or 
root  out  this  carnal,  worldly  growth  as 
much  in  the  settlement  as  in  the  wilderness. 
Some  were  for  getting  over  the  difficulty  by 
dragging  the  mere  wasted  "letter  of  the 
Word,"  or  the  rotten  and  withered  husks 
of  it,  into  the  highways  and  byways,  where 
the  "blazin'"  scorn  of  the  World  would 
finish  it.  A  low,  penitential  groan  from 
Deacon  Shadwell  followed  this  accusing 
illustration.  But  the  preacher  would  tell 
them  that  the  only  way  was  to  boldly  attack 
this  rankly  growing  World  around  them; 
to  clear  out  fresh  paths  for  the  Truth,  and 
let  the  sunlight  of  Heaven  stream  among 
them. 

There  was  little  doubt  that  the  congre- 
gation was  moved.  Whatever  they  might 
have  thought  of  the  application,  the  fact 
itself  was  patent.  The  rheumatic  Beaseleys 
felt  the  truth  of  it  in  their  aching  bones ;  it 
came  home  to  the  fever  and  ague  stricken 
Filgees  in  their  damp  seats  against  the 
sappy  wall;  it  echoed  plainly  in  the  chronic 
cough  of  Sister  Mary  Strutt  and  Widow 
Doddridge;  and  Cissy  Appleby,  with  her 
round  brown  eyes  fixed  upon  the  speaker, 
remembering  how  the  starch  had  been  taken 


228    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

out  of  her  Sunday  frocks,  how  her  long 
ringlets  had  become  uncurled,  her  frills 
limp,  and  even  her  ribbons  lustreless,  felt 
that  indeed  a  prophet  had  arisen  in  Israel ! 

One  or  two,  however,  were  disappointed 
that  he  had  as  yet  given  no  indication 
of  that  powerful  exhortatory  emotion  for 
which  he  was  famed,  and  which  had  been 
said  to  excite  certain  corresponding  cory- 
bantic  symptoms  among  his  sensitive  female 
worshipers.  When  the  service  was  over, 
and  the  congregation  crowded  around  him, 
Sister  Mary  Strutt,  on  the  outer  fringe  of 
the  assembly,  confided  to  Sister  Evans  that 
she  had  "hearn  tell  how  that  when  he  was 
over  at  Soquel  he  prayed  that  pow'ful  that 
all  the  wimmen  got  fits  and  tremblin'  spells, 
and  ole  Mrs.  Jackson  had  to  be  hauled  off 
his  legs  that  she  was  kneelin'  and  claspin' 
while  wrestling  with  the  Sperit." 

"I  reckon  we  seemed  kinder  strange  to 
him  this  morning,  and  he  wanted  to  jest 
feel  his  way  to  our  hearts  first,"  exclaimed 
Brother  Jonas  Steers  politely.  "He'll  be 
more  at  home  at  evenin'  service.  It  's 
queer  that  some  of  the  best  exhortin'  work 
is  done  arter  early  candlelight.  I  reckon 
he  's  goin'  to  stop  over  with  Deacon  Brad- 
ley to  dinner." 


An  JZpisode  of  West  Woodland*.    229 

But  it  appeared  that  the  new  preacher, 
now  formally  introduced  as  Brother  Sea- 
bright,  was  intending  to  walk  over  to  Hem- 
lock Mills  to  dinner.  He  only  asked  to  be 
directed  the  nearest  way ;  he  would  not 
trouble  Brother  Shadwell  or  Deacon  Brad- 
ley to  come  with  him. 

"But  here's  Cissy  Appleby  live*s  within 
a  mile  o'  thar,  and  you  could  go  along 
with  her.  She  'd  jest  admire  to  show  you 
the  way,"  interrupted  Brother  Shadwell. 
"Would n't  you,  Cissy?" 

Thus  appealed  to,  the  young  chorister  — 
a  tall  girl  of  sixteen  or  seventeen  —  timidly 
raised  her  eyes  to  Brother  Seabright  as  he 
was  about  to  repeat  his  former  protestation, 
and  he  stopped. 

"Ef  the  young  lady  is  goin'  that  way, 
it 's  only  fair  to  accept  her  kindness  in  a 
Christian  sperit,"  he  said  gently. 

Cissy  turned  with  a  mingling  of  apology 
and  bashfulness  towards  a  young  fellow 
who  seemed  to  be  acting  as  her  escort,  but 
who  was  hesitating  in  an  equal  bashfulness, 
when  Seabright  added :  "  And  perhaps  our 
young  friend  will  come  too?  " 

But  the  young  friend  drew  back  with  a 
confused  laugh,  and  Brother  Seabright  and 


230    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

Cissy  passed  out  from  the  porch  together. 
For  a  few  moments  they  mingled  with  the 
stream  and  conversation  of  the  departing 
congregation,  but  presently  Cissy  timidly  in- 
dicated a  diverging  bypath,  and  they  both 
turned  into  it. 

It  was  much  warmer  in  the  open  than  it 
had  been  in  the  chapel  and  thicket,  and 
Cissy,  by  way  of  relieving  a  certain  awk- 
ward tension  of  silence,  took  off  the  water- 
proof cloak  and  slung  it  on  her  arm.  This 
disclosed  her  five  long  brown  cable-like 
curls  that  hung  down  her  shoulders,  reaching 
below  her  waist  in  some  forgotten  fashion 
of  girlhood.  They  were  Cissy's  peculiar 
adornment,  remarkable  for  their  length, 
thickness,  and  the  extraordinary  youthful- 
ness  imparted  to  a  figure  otherwise  preco- 
ciously matured.  In  some  wavering  doubt 
of  her  actual  years  and  privileges,  Brother 
Seabright  offered  to  carry  her  cloak  for 
her,  but  she  declined  it  with  a  rustic  and 
youthful  pertinacity  that  seemed  to  settle 
the  question.  In  fact,  Cissy  was  as  much 
embarrassed  as  she  was  flattered  by  the  com- 
pany of  this  distinguished  stranger.  How- 
ever, it  would  be  known  to  all  West  Wood- 
land that  he  had  walked  home  with  her, 


An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands.    231 

while  nobody  but  herself  would  know  that 
they  had  scarcely  exchanged  a  word.  She 
noticed  how  he  lounged  on  with  a  heavy, 
rolling  gait,  sometimes  a  little  before  or 
behind  her  as  the  path  narrowed.  At  such 
times  when  they  accidentally  came  in  con- 
tact in  passing,  she  felt  a  half  uneasy,  phy- 
sical consciousness  of  him,  which  she  re- 
ferred to  his  size,  the  scars  on  his  face,  or 
some  latent  hardness  of  expression,  but  was 
relieved  to  see  that  he  had  not  observed 
it.  Yet  this  was  the  man  that  made  grown 
women  cry;  she  thought  of  old  Mrs.  Jack- 
son fervently  grasping  the  plodding  ankles 
before  her,  and  a  hysteric  desire  to  laugh, 
with  the  fear  that  he  might  see  it  on  her 
face,  overcame  her.  Then  she  wondered  if 
he  was  going  to  walk  all  the  way  home 
without  speaking,  yet  she  knew  she  would 
be  more  embarrassed  if  he  began  to  talk  to 
her. 

Suddenly  he  stopped,  and  she  bumped  up 
against  him. 

"Oh,  excuse  me!"  she  stammered  hur- 
riedly. 

"Eh?"  He  evidently  had  not  noticed 
the  collision.  "Did  you  speak?" 

"  No !  —  that  is  —  it  was  n't  anything, " 
returned  the  girl,  coloring. 


232    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

But  he  had  quite  forgotten  her,  and 
was  looking  intently  before  him.  They  had 
come  to  a  break  in  the  fringe  of  woodland, 
and  upon  a  sudden  view  of  the  ocean.  At 
this  point  the  low  line  of  coast-range  which 
sheltered  the  valley  of  West  Woodlands 
was  abruptly  cloven  by  a  gorge  that  crum- 
bled and  fell  away  seaward  to  the  shore  of 
Horse  Shoe  Bay.  On  its  northern  trend 
stretched  the  settlement  of  Horse  Shoe  to 
the  promontory  of  Whale  Mouth  Point, 
with  its  outlying  reef  of  rocks  curved  in- 
wards like  the  vast  submerged  jaw  of  some 
marine  monster,  through  whose  blunt,  tooth- 
like  projections  the  ship-long  swell  of  the 
Pacific  streamed  and  fell.  On  the  southern 
shore  the  light  yellow  sands  of  Punta  de  las 
Concepcion  glittered  like  sunshine  all  the 
way  to  the  olive-gardens  and  white  domes 
of  the  Mission.  The  two  shores  seemed  to 
typify  the  two  different  climates  and  civili- 
zations separated  by  the  bay. 

The  heavy,  woodland  atmosphere  was 
quickened  by  the  salt  breath  of  the  sea. 
The  stranger  inhaled  it  meditatively. 

"That's  the  reef  where  the  Tamalpais 
struck,"  he  said,  "and  more  'n  fifty  miles 
out  of  her  course  —  yes,  more  'n  fifty  miles 


An  'Episode  of  West  Woodlands.    233 

from  where  she  should  have  bin!  It  don't 
look  nat'ral.  No  —  it  —  don't  —  look  — 
nat'ral!" 

As  he  seemed  to  be  speaking  to  himself, 
the  young  girl,  who  had  been  gazing  with 
far  greater  interest  at  the  foreign-looking 
southern  shore,  felt  confused  and  did  not 
reply.  Then,  as  if  recalling  hef  presence, 
Brother  Seabright  turned  to  her  and 
said :  — 

"Yes,  young  lady;  and  when  you  hear 
the  old  bell  of  the  Tamalpais,  and  think 
of  how  it  came  here,  you  may  rejoice  in  the 
goodness  of  the  Lord  that  made  even  those 
who  strayed  from  the  straight  course  and 
the  true  reckoning  the  means  of  testifying 
onto  Him." 

But  the  young  are  quicker  to  detect  atti- 
tudes and  affectation  than  we  are  apt  to 
imagine ;  and  Cissy  could  distinguish  a  cer- 
tain other  straying  in  this  afterthought  or 
moral  of  the  preacher  called  up  by  her  pres- 
ence, and  knew  that  it  was  not  the  real  in- 
terest which  the  view  had  evoked.  She  had 
heard  that  he  had  been  a  sailor,  and,  with 
the  tact  of  her  sex,  answered  with  what  she 
thought  would  entertain  him :  — 

"I  was  a  little  girl  when  it  happened, 


234    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

and  I  heard  that  some  sailors  got  ashore 
down  there,  and  climbed  up  this  gully  from 
the  rocks  below.  And  they  camped  that 
night  —  for  there  were  no  houses  at  West 
Woodlands  then  —  just  in  the  woods  where 
our  chapel  now  stands.  It  was  funny, 
wasn't  it? —  I  mean,"  she  corrected  herself 
bashfully,  "it  was  strange  they  chanced  to 
come  just  there?  " 

But  she  had  evidently  hit  the  point  of 
interest. 

"What  became  of  them?  "  he  said 
quickly.  "They  never  came  to  Horse 
Shoe  Settlement,  where  the  others  landed 
from  the  wreck.  I  never  heard  of  that 
boat's  crew  or  of  any  landing  here." 

"No.  They  kept  on  over  the  range 
south  to  the  Mission.  I  reckon  they  did  n't 
know  there  was  a  way  down  on  this  side  to 
Horse  Shoe,"  returned  Cissy. 

Brother  Seabright  moved  on  and  contin- 
ued his  slow,  plodding  march.  But  he 
kept  a  little  nearer  Cissy,  and  she  was  con- 
scious that  he  occasionally  looked  at  her. 
Presently  he  said :  — 

"You  have  a  heavenly  gift,  Miss  Ap- 
pleby." 

Cissy  flushed,  and  her  hand  involuntarily 


An  JZpisode  of  West  Woodlands.    235 

went  to  one  of  her  long,  distinguishing 
curls.  It  might  be  that.  The  preacher 
continued :  — 

"Yes;  a  voice  like  yours  is  a  heavenly 
gift.  And  you  have  properly  devoted  it  to 
His  service.  Have  you  been  singing  long?  " 

"About  two  years.  But  I  've  got  to 
study  a  heap  yet." 

"The  little  birds  don't  think  it  necessary 
to  study  to  praise  Him,"  said  the  preacher 
sententiously. 

It  occurred  to  Cissy  that  this  was  very 
unfair  argument.  She  said  quickly :  — 

"But  the  little  birds  don't  have  to  fol- 
low words  in  the  hymn-books.  You  don't 
give  out  lines  to  larks  and  bobolinks,"  and 
blushed. 

The  preacher  smiled.  It  was  a  ver^ 
engaging  smile,  Cissy  thought,  that  light- 
ened his  hard  mouth.  It  enabled  her  to 
take  heart  of  grace,  and  presently  to  chatter 
like  the  very  birds  she  had  disparaged. 
Oh  yes;  she  knew  she  had  to  learn  a  great 
deal  more.  She  had  studied  "some"  al- 
ready. She  was  taking  lessons  over  at 
Point  Concepcion,  where  her  aunt  had 
friends,  and  she  went  three  times  a  week. 
The  gentleman  who  taught  her  was  not  a 


236    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

Catholic,  and,  of  course,  he  knew  she  was  a 
Protestant.  She  would  have  preferred  to 
live  there,  but  her  mother  and  father  were 
both  dead,  and  had  left  her  with  her  aunt. 
She  liked  it  better  because  it  was  sunnier 
and  brighter  there.  She  loved  the  sun  and 
warmth.  She  had  listened  to  what  he  had 
said  about  the  dampness  and  gloom  of  the 
chapel.  It  was  true.  The  dampness  was 
that  dreadful  sometimes  it  just  ruined  her 
clothes,  and  even  made  her  hoarse.  Did 
he  think  they  would  really  take  his  advice 
and  clear  out  the  woods  round  the  chapel  ? 

"Would  you  like  it?"  he  asked  pleas- 
antly. 

"Yes."  , 

"And  you  think  you  wouldn't  pine  so 
much  for  the  sunshine  and  warmth  of  the 
Mission?" 

"I  'm  not  pining,"  said  Cissy  with  a  toss 
of  her  curls,  "for  anything  or  anybody; 
but  I  think  the  woods  ought  to  be  cleared 
out.  It 's  just  as  it  was  when  the  runaways 
hid  there." 

"When  the  runaways  hid  there!"  said 
Brother  Seabright  quickly.  "What  run- 
aways?" 

"Why,  the  boat's  crew,"  said  Cissy. 


An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands.    237 

"  Why  do  you  call  them  runaways?  " 

"I  don't  know.  Didn't  you?"  said 
Cissy  simply.  "  Did  n't  you  say  they 
never  came  back  to  Horse  Shoe  Bay.  Per- 
haps I  had  it  from  aunty.  But  I  know 
it 's  damp  and  creepy;  and  when  ^ was  lit- 
tler I  used  to  be  frightened  to  be  alone 
there  practicing." 

"Why?"  said  the  preacher  quickly. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  hurried  on  Cissy, 
with  a  vague  impression  that  she  had  said 
too  much.  "Only  my  fancy,  I  guess." 

"Well,"  said  Brother  Seabright  after  a 
pause  ;  "we  '11  see  what  can  be  done  to 
make  a  clearing  there.  Birds  sing  best  in 
the  sunshine,  and  you  ought  to  have  some 
say  about  it." 

Cissy's  dimples  and  blushes  came  to- 
gether this  time.  "That 's  our  house,"  she 
said  suddenly,  with  a  slight  accent  of  relief, 
pointing  to  a  weather-beaten  farmhouse  on 
the  edge  of  the  gorge.  "I  turn  off  here, 
but  you  keep  straight  on  for  the  Mills; 
they  're  back  in  the  woods  a  piece.  But," 
she  stammered  with  a  sudden  sense  of 
shame  of  forgotten  hospitality,  "won't  you 
come  in  and  see  aunty?" 

"No,  thank  you,  not  now."     He  stopped, 


238    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

turning  his  gaze  from  the  house  to  her. 
"How  old  is  your  house?  Was  it  there  at 
the  time  of  the  wreck?" 

"Yes,"  said  Cissy. 

"It  's  odd  that  the  crew  did  not  come 
there  for  help,  eh?  " 

"Maybe  they  overlooked  it  in  the  dark- 
ness and  the  storm,"  said  Cissy  simply. 
"Good-by,  sir." 

The  preacher  held  her  hand  for  an  instant 
in  his  powerful,  but  gently  graduated  grasp. 
"Good-by  until  evening  service." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Cissy. 

The  young  girl  tripped  on  towards  her 
house  a  little  agitated  and  conscious,  and 
yet  a  little  proud  as  she  saw  the  faces  of 
her  aunt,  her  uncle,  her  two  cousins,  and 
even  her  discarded  escort,  Jo  Adams,  at 
the  windows,  watching  her. 

"So,"  said  her  aunt,  as  she  entered 
breathlessly,  "  ye  walked  home  with  the 
preacher !  It  was  a  speshal  providence  and 
manifestation  for  ye,  Cissy.  I  hope  ye  was 
mannerly  and  humble  —  and  profited  by  the 
words  of  grace." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Cissy,  putting  aside 
her  hat  and  cloak  listlessly.  "He  did  n't 
talk  much  of  anything  —  but  the  old  wreck 
of  the  Tamalpais." 


An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands.    239 

"What?"  said  her  aunt  quickly. 

"The  wreck  of  the  Tamalpais,  and  the 
boat's  crew  that  came  up  the  gorge,"  re- 
peated the  young  girl. 

"And  what  did  he  know  about  the  boat's 
crew?"  said  her  aunt  hurriedly,  fixing  her 
black  eyes  on  Cissy. 

"Nothing  except  what  I  told  him." 

"What  you  told  him!  "  echoed  her  aunt, 
with  an  ominous  color  filling  the  sallow 
hollows  of  her  cheek. 

"Yes!  He  has  been  a  sailor,  you  know 
—  and  I  thought  it  would  interest  him ;  and 
it  did!  He  thought  it  strange." 

"Cecilia  Jane  Appleby,"  said  her  aunt 
shrilly,  "do  you  mean  to  say  that  you 
threw  away  your  chances  of  salvation  and 
saving  grace  just  to  tell  gossiping  tales 
that  you  knew  was  lies,  and  evil  report, 
and  false  witnesses!" 

"I  only  talked  of  what  I'd  heard,  aunt 
Vashti,"  said  Cecilia  indignantly.  "And 
he  afterwards  talked  of  —  of  —  my  voice, 
and  said  I  had  a  heavenly  gift,"  she  added, 
with  a  slight  quiver  of  her  lip. 

Aunt  Yashti  regarded  the  girl  sharply. 

"And  you  may  thank  the  Lord  for  that 
heavenly  gift,"  she  said,  in  a  slightly  low- 


240    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

ered  voice;  "for  ef  ye  hadn't  to  use  it  to- 
night, I  'd  shut  ye  up  in  your  room,  to 
make  it  pay  for  yer  foolish  gaddin'  tongue! 
And  I  reckon  I  '11  escort  ye  to  chapel  to- 
night myself,  miss,  and  get  shut  o'  some  of 
this  foolishness." 


II. 

The  broad  plaza  of  the  Mission  de  la 
Concepcion  had  been  baking  in  the  day- 
long sunlight.  Shining  drifts  from  the 
outlying  sand  dunes,  blown  across  the  ill- 
paved  roadway,  radiated  the  heat  in  the 
faces  of  the  few  loungers  like  the  pricking 
of  liliputian  arrows,  and  invaded  even  the 
cactus  hedges.  The  hot  air  visibly  quiv- 
ered over  the  dark  red  tiles  of  the  tienda 
roof  as  if  they  were  undergoing  a  second 
burning.  The  black  shadow  of  a  chimney 
on  the  whitewashed  adobe  wall  was  like  a 
door  or  cavernous  opening  in  the  wall  itself ; 
the  tops  of  the  olive  and  pear  trees  seen 
above  it  were  russet  and  sere  already  in  the 
fierce  light.  Even  the  moist  breath  of  the 
sea  beyond  had  quite  evaporated  before  it 
crossed  the  plaza,  and  now  rustled  the 
leaves  in  the  Mission  garden  with  a  dry, 
crepitant  sound. 


An  JZpisode  of  West  Woodlands.    241 

Nevertheless,  it  seemed  to  Cissy  Ap- 
pleby,  as  she  crossed  the  plaza,  a  very  wel- 
come change  from  West  Woodlands.  Al- 
though the  late  winter  rains  had  ceased  a 
month  ago,  —  a  few  days  after  the  revivalist 
preacher  had  left,  —  the  woods  around  the 
chapel  were  still  sodden  and  heavy,  and  the 
threatened  improvement  in  its  site  had  not 
taken  place.  Neither  had  the  preacher  him- 
self alluded  to  it  again ;  his  evening  sermon 
—  the  only  other  one  he  preached  there  — 
was  unexciting,  and  he  had,  in  fact,  left 
West  Woodlands  without  any  display  of 
that  extraordinary  exhortatory  faculty  for 
which  he  was  famous.  Yet  Cissy,  in  spite 
of  her  enjoyment  of  the  dry,  hot  Mission, 
remembered  him,  and  also  recalled,  albeit 
poutingly,  his  blunt  suggesting  that  she 
was  "pining  for  it."  Nevertheless,  she 
would  like  to  have  sung  for  him  here  — 
supposing  it  was  possible  to  conceive  of  a 
Sidon  Brotherhood  Chapel  at  the  Mission. 
It  was  a  great  pity,  she  thought,  that  the 
Sidon  Brotherhood  and  the  Franciscan 
Brotherhood  were  not  more  brotherly  to- 
wards each  other.  Cissy  belonged  to  the 
former  by  hereditary  right,  locality,  and 
circumstance,  but  it  is  to  be  feared  that  her 
theology  was  imperfect. 


242    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

She  entered  a  lane  between  the  Mission 
wall  and  a  lighter  iron  fenced  inclosure, 
once  a  part  of  the  garden,  but  now  the  ap- 
purtenance of  a  private  dwelling  that  was 
reconstructed  over  the  heavy  adobe  shell  of 
some  forgotten  structure  of  the  old  ecclesias- 
tical founders.  It  was  pierced  by  many 
windows  and  openings,  and  that  sunlight 
and  publicity  which  the  former  padres  had 
jealously  excluded  was  now  wooed  from 
long  balconies  and  verandas  by  the  new 
proprietor,  a  well  to  do  American.  Elisha 
Braggs,  whose  name  was  generously  and 
euphoniously  translated  by  his  native  neigh- 
bors into  "Don  Eliseo,"  although  a  heretic, 
had  given  largess  to  the  church  in  the  way 
of  restoring  its  earthquake -shaken  tower, 
and  in  presenting  a  new  organ  to  its  dilapi- 
dated choir.  He  had  further  endeared  him- 
self to  the  conservative  Spanish  population 
by  introducing  no  obtrusive  improvements ; 
by  distributing  his  means  through  the  old 
channels ;  by  apparently  inciting  no  further 
alien  immigration,  but  contenting  himself 
to  live  alone  among  them,  adopting  their 
habits,  customs,  and  language.  A  harm- 
less musical  taste,  and  a  disposition  to  in- 
struct the  young  boy  choristers,  was  equally 


An  Episode,  of  West  Woodlands.    243 

balanced  by  great  skill  in  horsemanship  and 
the  personal  management  of  a  ranche  of 
wild  cattle  on  the  inland  plains. 

Consciously  pretty,  and  prettily  conscious 
in  her  white-starched,  rose -sprigged  muslin, 
her  pink  parasol,  beribboned  gypsy  hat, 
and  the  long  mane-like  curls  that  swung 
over  her  shoulders,  Cissy  entered  the  house 
and  was  shown  to  the  large  low  drawing- 
room  on  the  ground-floor.  She  once  more 
inhaled  its  hot  potpourri  fragrance,  in  which 
the  spice  of  the  Castilian  rose-leaves  of 
the  garden  was  dominant.  A  few  boys, 
whom  she  recognized  as  the  choristers  of 
the  Mission  and  her  fellow  -  pupils,  were 
already  awaiting  her  with  some  degree  of 
anxiety  and  impatience.  This  fact,  and  a 
certain  quick  animation  that  sprang  to  the 
blue  eyes  of  the  master  of  the  house  as  the 
rose-sprigged  frock  and  long  curls  appeared 
at  the  doorway,  showed  that  _  Cissy  was 
clearly  the  favorite  pupil. 

Elisha  Braggs  was  a  man  of  middle  age, 
with  a  figure  somewhat  rounded  by  the 
adipose  curves  of  a  comfortable  life,  and 
an  air  of  fastidiousness  which  was,  however, 
occasionally  at  variance  with  what  seemed 
to  be  his  original  condition.  He  greeted 


244    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

Cissy  with  a  certain  nervous  overconscious- 
ness  of  his  duties  as  host  and  teacher,  and 
then  plunged  abruptly  into  the  lesson.  It 
lasted  an  hour,  Cissy  tactfully  dividing  his 
somewhat  exclusive  instruction  with  the 
others,  and  even  interpreting  it  to  their 
slower  comprehension.  When  it  was  over, 
the  choristers  shyly  departed,  according 
to  their  usual  custom,  leaving  Cissy  and 
Don  Eliseo  —  and  occasionally  one  of  the 
padres  —  to  more  informal  practicing  and 
performance.  Neither  the  ingenuousness 
of  Cissy  nor  the  worldly  caution  of  aunt 
Vashti  had  ever  questioned  the  propriety  of 
these  prolonged  and  secluded  seances ;  and 
the  young  girl  herself,  although  by  no  means 
unaccustomed  to  the  bashful  attentions  of 
the  youth  of  West  Woodlands,  had  never 
dreamed  of  these  later  musical  interviews 
as  being  anything  but  an  ordinary  recrea- 
tion of  her  art.  The  feeling  of  gratitude 
and  kindness  she  had  for  Don  Eliseo,  her 
aunt's  friend,  had  never  left  her  conscious 
or  embarrassed  when  she  was  alone  with 
him.  But  to-day,  possibly  from  his  own 
nervousness  and  preoccupation,  she  was 
aware  of  some  vague  uneasiness,  and  at  an 
early  opportunity  rose  to  go.  But  Don 


An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands.    245 

Eliseo  gently  laid  his  hand  on  hers  and 
said :  — 

"Don't  go  yet;  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

His  touch  suddenly  reminded  her  that 
once  or  twice  before  he  had  done  the  same 
thing,  and  she  had  been  disagreeably  im- 
pressed by  it.  But  she  lifted  her  brown 
eyes  to  his  with  an  unconsciousness  that 
was  more  crushing  than  a  withdrawal  of  her 
hand,  and  waited  for  him  to  go  on. 

"  It  is  such  a  long  way  for  you  to  come, 
and  you  have  so  little  time  to  stay  when 
you  are  here,  that  I  am  thinking  of  asking 
your  aunt  to  let  you  live  here  at  the  Mis- 
sion, as  a  pupil,  in  the  house  of  the  Senora 
Hernandez,  until  your  lessons  are  finished. 
Padre  Jose  will  attend  to  the  rest  of  your 
education.  Would  you  like  it? " 

Poor  Cissy's  eyes  leaped  up  in  unaffected 
and  sparkling  affirmation  before  her  tongue 
replied.  To  bask  in  this  beloved  sunshine 
for  days  together ;  to  have  this  quaint  Span- 
ish life  before  her  eyes,  and  those  soft  Span- 
ish accents  in  her  ears ;  to  forget  herself  in 
wandering  in  the  old-time  Mission  garden 
beyond ;  to  have  daily  access  to  Mr.  Braggs's 
piano  and  the  organ  of  the  church  —  this 
was  indeed  the  realization  of  her  fondest 


246    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

dreams!  Yet  she  hesitated.  Somewhere 
in  her  inherited  Puritan  nature  was  a  vague 
conviction  that  it  was  wrong,  and  it  seemed 
even  to  find  an  echo  in  the  warning  of  the 
preacher:  this  was  what  she  was  "pining 
for." 

"I  don't  know,"  she  stammered.  "I 
must  ask  auntie;  I  shouldn't  like  to  leave 
her;  and  there  's  the  chapel." 

"Isn't  that  revivalist  preacher  enough 
to  run  it  for  a  while?  "  said  her  companion, 
half-sneeringly. 

The  remark  was  not  a  tactful  one. 

"Mr.  Seabright  has  n't  been  here  for  a 
month,"  she  answered  somewhat  quickly. 
"But  he's  coming  next  Sunday,  and  I'm 
glad  of  it.  He  's  a  very  good  man.  And 
there  's  nothing  he  don't  notice.  He  saw 
how  silly  it  was  to  stick  the  chapel  into 
the  very  heart  of  the  woods,  and  he  told 
them  so." 

"And  I  suppose  he  '11  run  up  a  brand- 
new  meeting-house  out  on  the  road,"  said 
Braggs,  smiling. 

"No,  he  's  going  to  open  up  the  woods, 
and  let  the  sun  and  light  in,  and  clear  out 
the  underbrush." 

"And  what  's  that  for?" 


An  JZpisode  of  West  Woodlands.    247 

There  was  such  an  utter  and  abrupt 
change  in  the  speaker's  voice  and  manner 
—  which  until  then  had  been  lazily  fastidi- 
ous and  confident  —  that  Cissy  was  startled. 
And  the  change  being  rude  and  dictatorial, 
she  was  startled  into  opposition.  She  had 
wanted  to  say  that  the  improvement  had 
been  suggested  by  her,  but  she  took  a  more 
aggressive  attitude. 

"Brother  Seabright  says  it 's  a  question 
of  religion  and  morals.  It 's  a  scandal  and 
a  wrong,  and  a  disgrace  to  the  Word,  that 
the  chapel  should  have  been  put  there." 

Don  Eliseo's  face  turned  so  white  and 
waxy  that  Cissy  would  have  noticed  it  had 
she  not  femininely  looked  away  while  tak- 
ing this  attitude. 

"I  suppose  that 's  a  part  of  his  sensation 
style,  and  very  effective,"  he  said,  resuming 
his  former  voice  and  manner.  "I  must  try 
to  hear  him  some  day.  But,  now,  in  regard 
to  your  coming  here,  of  course  I  shall  con- 
sult your  aunt,  although  I  imagine  she  will 
have  no  objection.  I  only  wanted  to  know 
how  you  felt  about  it."  He  again  laid  his 
hand  on  hers. 

"I  should  like  to  come  very  much,"  said 
Cissy  timidly;  "and  it 's  very  kind  of  you, 


248    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

I  'm  sure ;  but  you  '11  see  what  auntie  says, 
won't  you?"  She  withdrew  her  hand  after 
momentarily  grasping  his,  as  if  his  own  act 
had  been  only  a  parting  salutation,  and 
departed. 

Aunt  Vashti  received  Cissy's  account  of 
her  interview  with  a  grim  satisfaction.  She 
did  not  know  what  ideas  young  gals  had 
nowadays,  but  in  her  time  she  'd  been  fit 
to  jump  outer  her  skin  at  such  an  offer 
from  such  a  good  man  as  Elisha  Braggs. 
And  he  was  a  rich  man,  too.  And  ef  he 
was  goin'  to  give  her  an  edication  free,  it 
wasn't  goin'  to  stop  there.  For  her  part, 
she  didn't  like  to  put  ideas  in  young  girls' 
heads,  —  goodness  knows  they  'd  enough 
foolishness  already  ;  but  if  Cissy  made  a 
Christian  use  of  her  gifts,  and  'tended  to 
her  edication  and  privileges,  and  made  her- 
self a  fit  helpmeet  for  any  man,  she  would 
say  that  there  were  few  men  in  these  parts 
that  was  as  "  comf'ble  ketch "  as  Lish 
Braggs,  or  would  make  as  good  a  husband 
and  provider. 

The  blood  suddenly  left  Cissy's  cheeks  and 
then  returned  with  uncomfortable  heat.  Her 
annt's  words  had  suddenly  revealed  to  her 
the  meaning  of  the  uneasiness  she  had  felt 


An  JZpisode  of  West  Woodlands.    249 

in  Braggs's  house  that  morning  —  the  old 
repulsion  that  had  come  at  his  touch.  She 
had  never  thought  of  him  as  a  suitor  or  a 
beau  before,  yet  it  now  seemed  perfectly 
plain  to  her  that  this  was  the  ulterior  mean- 
ing of  his  generosity.  And  yet  she  received 
that  intelligence  with  the  same  mixed  emo- 
tions with  which  she  had  received  his  offer 
to  educate  her.  She  did  not  conceal  from 
herself  the  pride  and  satisfaction  she  felt  in 
this  presumptive  selection  of  her  as  his 
wife ;  the  worldly  advantages  that  it  prom- 
ised ;  nor  that  it  was  a  destiny  far  beyond 
her  deserts.  Yet  she  was  conscious  of 
exactly  the  same  sense  of  wrong-doing  in 
her  preferences  —  something  that  seemed 
vaguely  akin  to  that  "conviction  of  sin"  of 
which  she  had  heard  so  much  —  as  when 
she  received  his  offer  of  education.  It  was 
this  mixture  of  fear  and  satisfaction  that 
caused  her  alternate  paling  and  flushing, 
yet  this  time  it  was  the  fear  that  came  first. 
Perhaps  she  was  becoming  unduly  sensitive. 
The  secretiveness  of  her  sex  came  to  her  aid 
here,  and  she  awkwardly  changed  the  sub- 
ject. Aunt  Vashti,  complacently  believing 
that  her  words  had  fallen  on  fruitful  soil, 
discreetly  said  no  more. 


250    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

It  was  a  hot  morning  when  Cissy  walked 
alone  to  chapel  early  next  Sunday.  There 
was  a  dry  irritation  in  the  air  which  even 
the  northwest  trades,  blowing  through  the 
seaward  gorge,  could  not  temper,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life  she  looked  forward 
to  the  leafy  seclusion  of  the  buried  chapel 
with  a  feeling  of  longing.  She  had  avoided 
her  youth'ful  escort,  for  she  wished  to  prac- 
tice alone  for  an  hour  before  the  service 
with  the  new  harmonium  that  had  taken  the 
place  of  the  old  accordion  and  its  unskillful 
performer.  Perhaps,  too,  there  was  a  timid 
desire  to  be  at  her  best  on  the  return  of 
Brother  Seabright,  and  to  show  him,  with 
a  new  performance,  that  the  "heavenly 
gift "  had  not  been  neglected.  She  opened 
the  chapel  with  the  key  she  always  carried, 
"swished"  away  an  intrusive  squirrel,  left 
the  door  and  window  open  for  a  moment, 
until  the  beating  of  frightened  wings 
against  the  rafters  had  ceased,  and,  after 
carefully  examining  the  floor  for  spiders, 
mice,  and  other  creeping  things,  brushed 
away  a  few  fallen  leaves  and  twigs  from 
the  top  of  the  harmonium.  Then,  with  her 
long  curls  tossed  over  her  shoulders  and 
hanging  limply  down  the  back  of  her  new 


An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands.    251 

maple-leaf  yellow  frock,  —  which  was  also 
a  timid  recognition  of  Brother  Seabright's 
return,  —  and  her  brown  eyes  turned  to  the 
rafters,  this  rustic  St.  Cecilia  of  the  Coast 
Range  began  to  sing.  The  shell  of  the 
little  building  dilated  with  the  melojiy;  the 
sashes  of  the  windows  pulsated,  the  two 
ejected  linnets  joined  in  timidly  from  their 
coign  of  vantage  in  the  belfry  outside,  and 
the  limp  vines  above  the  porch  swayed  like 
her  curls.  Once  she  thought  she  heard 
stealthy  footsteps  without;  once  she  was 
almost  certain  she  felt  the  brushing  of 
somebody  outside  against  the  thin  walls  of 
the  chapel,  and  once  she  stopped  to  glance 
quickly  at  the  window  with  a  strange  in- 
stinct that  some  one  was  looking  at  her. 
But  she  quickly  reflected  that  Brother  Sea- 
bright  would  come  there  only  when  the 
deacons  did,  and  with  them.  Why  she 
should  think  that  it  was  Brother  Seabright, 
or  why  Brother  Seabright  should  come  thus 
and  at  such  a  time,  she  could  not  have  ex- 
plained. 

He  did  not,  in  fact,  make  his  appearance 
until  later,  and  after  the  congregation  had 
quite  filled  the  chapel;  he  did  not,  more- 
over, appear  to  notice  her  as  she  sat  there, 


252    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

and  when  he  gave  out  the  hymn  he  seemed 
to  have  quietly  overlooked  the  new  harmo- 
nium. She  sang  her  best,  however,  and 
more  than  one  of  the  audience  thought  that 
"little  Sister  Appleby"  had  greatly  im- 
proved. Indeed,  it  would  not  have  seemed 
strange  to  some  —  remembering  Brother 
Seabright's  discursive  oratory  —  if  he  had 
made  some  allusion  to  it.  But  he  did  not. 
His  heavy  eyes  moved  slowly  over  the  con- 
gregation, and  he  began. 

As  usual  he  did  not  take  a  text.  But  he 
would  talk  to  them  that  morning  about 
"The  Conviction  of  Sin"  and  the  sense  of 
wrong-doing  that  was  innate  in  the  sinner. 
This  included  all  form  of  temptation,  for 
what  was  temptation  but  the  inborn  con- 
sciousness of  something  to  struggle  against, 
and  that  was  sin !  At  this  apparently  con- 
cise exposition  of  her  own  feelings  in  regard 
to  Don  Eliseo's  offer,  Cissy  felt  herself 
blushing  to  the  roots  of  her  curls.  Could 
it  be  possible  that  Brother  Seabright  had 
heard  of  her  temptation  to  leave  West 
Woodlands,  and  that  this  warning  was  in- 
tended for  her?  He  did  not  even  look  in 
her  direction.  Yet  his  next  sentence  seemed 
to  be  an  answer  to  her  own  mental  query. 


An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands.    253 

"Folks  might  ask,"  he  continued,  "if  even 
the  young  and  inexperienced  should  feel 
this  —  or  was  there  a  state  of  innocent  guilt 
without  consciousness?"  He  would  answer 
that  question  by  telling  them  what  had  hap- 
pened to  him  that  morning.  He  Jiad  come 
to  the  chapel,  not  by  the  road,  but  through 
the  tangled  woods  behind  them  (Cissy 
started)  —  through  the  thick  brush  and  un- 
dergrowth that  was  choking  the  life  out  of 
this  little  chapel  —  the  wilderness  that  he 
had  believed  was  never  before  trodden  by 
human  feet,  and  was  known  only  to  roam- 
ing beasts  and  vermin.  But  that  was  where 
he  was  wrong. 

In  the  stillness  and  listening  silence,  a 
sudden  cough  from  some  one  in  one  of  the 
back  benches  produced  that  instantaneous 
diversion  of  attention  common  to  humanity 
on  such  occasions.'  Cissy's  curls  swung 
round  with  the  others.  But  she  was  sur- 
prised to  see  that  Mr.  Braggs  was  seated  in 
one  of  the  benches  near  the  door,  and  from 
the  fact  of  his  holding  a  handkerchief  to  his 
mouth,  and  being  gazed  at  by  his  neigh- 
bors, it  was  evident  that  it  was  he  who  had 
coughed.  Perhaps  he  had  come  to  West 
Woodlands  to  talk  to  her  aunt !  With  the 


254    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

preacher  before  her,  and  her  probable  suitor 
behind  her,  she  felt  herself  again  blushing. 

Brother  Seabright  continued.  Yes,  he 
was  wrong,  for  there  before  him,  in  the 
depths  of  the  forest,  were  two  children. 
They  were  looking  at  a  Dush  of  "pizon  ber- 
ries," —the  deadly  nightshade,  as  it  was 
fitly  called,  —  and  one  was  warning  the  other 
of  its  dangerous  qualities. 

"But  how  do  you  know  it's  the  'pizon 
berry  '  ?  "  asked  the  other. 

"Because  it 's  larger,  and  nicer,  and  big- 
ger, and  easier  to  get  than  the  real  good 
ones,"  returned  the  other. 

And  it  was  so.  Thus  was  the  truth  re- 
vealed from  the  mouths  of  babes  and  suck- 
lings; even  they  were  conscious  of  tempta- 
tion and  sin !  But  here  there  was  another 
interruption  from  the  back  benches,  which 
proved,  however,  to  be  only  the  suppressed 
giggle  of  a  boy  —  evidently  the  youthful 
hero  of  the  illustration,  surprised  into  ner- 
vous hilarity. 

The  preacher  then  passed  to  the  "Con- 
viction of  Sin  "  in  its  more  familiar  phases. 
Many  brothers  confounded  this  with  discov- 
ery and  publicity.  It  was  not  their  own  sin 
"finding  them  out,"  but  others  discovering 


An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands.    255 

it.  Until  that  happened,  they  fancied 
themselves  safe,  stilling  their  consciences, 
confounding  the  blinded  eye  of  the  world 
with  the  all-seeing  eye  of  the  Lord.  But 
were  they  safe  even  then  ?  Did  not  sooner 
or  later  the  sea  deliver  up  its  dead,  the 
earth  what  was  buried  in  it,  the  w*ild  woods 
what  its  depths  had  hidden  ?  Was  not  the 
foolish  secret,  the  guilty  secret,  the  forgot- 
ten sin,  sure  to  be  disclosed?  Then  if  they 
could  not  fly  from  the  testimony  of  His 
works,  if  they  could  not  evade  even  their 
fellow-man,  why  did  they  not  first  turn  to 
Him?  Why,  from  the  penitent  child  at 
his  mother's  knee  to  the  murderer  on  the 
scaffold,  did  they  only  at  the  last  confess 
unto  Him? 

His  voice  and  manner  had  suddenly 
changed.  From  the  rough  note  of  accusa- 
tion and  challenge  it  had  passed  into  the 
equally  rough,  but  broken  and  sympathetic, 
accents  of  appeal.  Why  did  they  hesitate 
longer  to  confess  their  sin  —  not  to  man  — 
but  unto  Him?  Why  did  they  delay? 
Now  —  that  evening!  That  very  moment! 
This  was  the  appointed  time !  He  entreated 
them  in  the  name  of  religious  faith,  in  the 
name  of  a  human  brotherly  love.  His  de- 


256    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

livery  was  now  no  longer  deliberate,  but 
hurried  and  panting;  his  speech  now  no 
longer  chosen,  but  made  up  of  reiterations 
and  repetitions,  ejaculations,  and  even  in- 
coherent epithets.  His  gestures  and  long 
intonations  which  began  to  take  the  place 
of  even  that  interrupted  speech  affected 
them  more  than  his  reasoning!  Short  sighs 
escaped  them ;  they  swayed  to  and  fro  with 
the  rhythm  of  his  voice  and  movements. 
They  had  begun  to  comprehend  this  exacer- 
bation of  emotion  —  this  paroxysmal  rhap- 
sody. This  was  the  dithyrambic  exalta- 
tion they  had  ardently  waited  for.  They 
responded  quickly.  First  with  groans, 
equally  inarticulate  murmurs  of  assent, 
shouts  of  "Glory,"  and  the  reckless  invo- 
cation of  sacred  names.  Then  a  wave  of 
hysteria  seemed  to  move  the  whole  mass, 
and  broke  into  tears  and  sobs  among  the 
women.  In  her  own  excited  consciousness 
it  seemed  to  Cissy  that  some  actual  strug- 
gle between  good  and  evil  —  like  unto  the 
casting  out  of  devils  —  was  shaking  the  lit- 
tle building.  She  cast  a  hurried  glance 
behind  her  and  saw  Mr.  Braggs  sitting- 
erect,  white  and  scornful.  She  knew  that 
she  too  was  shrinking  from  the  speaker, 


An  Episode,  of  West  Woodlands.    257 

—  not  from  any  sense  of  conviction,  but 
because  he  was  irritating  and  disturbing 
her  innate  sense  of  fitness  and  harmony,  — 
and  she  was  pained  that  Mr.  Braggs  should 
see  him  thus.  Meantime  the  weird,  invisi- 
ble struggle  continued,  heightened  and,  it 
seemed  to  her,  incited  by  the  partisan 
groans  and  exultant  actions  of  those  around 
her,  until  suddenly  a  wild  despairing  cry 
arose  above  the  conflict.  A  vague  fear 
seized  her  —  the  voice  was  familiar !  She 
turned  in  time  to  see  the  figure  of  aunt 
Vashti  rise  in  her  seat  with  a  hysterical 
outburst,  and  fall  convulsively  forward 
upon  her  knees!  She  would  have  rushed 
to  her  side,  but  the  frenzied  woman  was 
instantly  caught  by  Deacon  Shadwell  and 
surrounded  by  a  group  of  her  own  sex  and 
became  hidden.  And  when  Cissy  recov- 
ered herself  she  was  astonished  to  find 
Brother  Seabright  —  with  every  trace  of  his 
past  emotion  vanished  from  his  hard-set 
face  —  calmly  taking  up  his  coherent  dis- 
course in  his  ordinary  level  tones.  The 
furious  struggle  of  the  moment  before  was 
over;  the  chapel  and  its  congregation  had 
fallen  back  into  an  exhausted  and  apathetic 
silence!  Then  the  preacher  gave  out  the 


258    An  JZpisode  of  West  Woodlands. 

hymn  —  the  words  were  singularly  jubi- 
lant among  that  usually  mournful  collection 
in  the  book  before  her  —  and  Cissy  began 
it  with  a  tremulous  voice.  But  it  gained 
strength,  clearness,  and  volume  as  she  went 
on,  and  she  felt  thrilled  throughout  with  a 
new  human  sympathy  she  had  never  known 
before.  The  preacher's  bass  supported  her 
now  for  the  first  time  not  unmusically  — 
and  the  service  was  over. 

Relieved,  she  turned  quickly  to  join  her 
aunt,  but  a  hand  was  laid  gently  upon  her 
shoulder.  It  was  Brother  Seabright,  who 
had  just  stepped  from  the  platform.  The 
congregation,  knowing  her  to  be  the  niece 
of  the  hysteric  woman,  passed  out  without 
disturbing  them. 

"You  have,  indeed,  improved  your  gift, 
Sister  Cecilia,"  he  said  gravely.  "You 
must  have  practiced  much." 

"Yes  —  that  is,  no!  —  only  a  little," 
stammered  Cissy. 

"But,  excuse  me,  I  must  look  after 
auntie,"  she  added,  drawing  timidly  away. 

"Your  aunt  is  better,  and  has  gone  on 
with  Sister  Shadwell.  She  is  not  in  need 
of  your  help,  and  really  would  do  better 
without  you  just  now.  I  shall  see  her 
myself  presently." 


An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands.    259 

"But  you  made  her  sick  already,"  said 
Cissy,  with  a  sudden,  half-nervous  auda- 
city. "You  even  frightened  me." 

"Frightened  you?"  repeated  Seabright, 
looking  at  her  quickly. 

"Yes,"  said  Cissy,  meeting  his  gaze  with 
brown,  truthful  eyes.  "Yes;  when  you  — 
when  you  —  made  those  faces.  I  like  to 
hear  you  talk,  but  "  —  she  stopped. 

Brother  Seabright 's  rare  smile  again 
lightened  his  face.  But  it  seemed  sadder 
than  when  she  had  first  seen  it. 

"Then  you  have  been  practicing  again  at 
the  Mission?"  he  said  quietly;  "and  you 
still  prefer  it?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Cissy.  She  wanted  to  ap- 
pear as  loyal  to  the  Mission  in  Brother 
Seabright's  presence  as  she  was  faithful  to 
West  Woodlands  in  Mr.  Braggs's.  She 
had  no  idea  that  this  was  dangerously  near 
to  coquetry.  So  she  said  a  little  archly, 
"I  don't  see  why  you  don't  like  the  Mis- 
sion. You  're  a  missionary  yourself.  The 
old  padres  came  here  to  spread  the  Word. 
So  do  you." 

"But  not  in  that  way,"  he  said  curtly. 
"I  've  seen  enough  of  them  when  I  was 
knocking  round  the  world  a  seafaring  man 


260    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

and  a  sinner.  I  knew  them  —  receivers  of 
the  ill-gotten  gains  of  adventurers,  fools, 
and  scoundrels.  I  knew  them  —  enriched 
by  the  spoils  of  persecution  and  oppression ; 
gathering  under  their  walls  outlaws  and 
fugitives  from  justice,  and  flinging  an  in- 
dulgence here  and  an  absolution  there,  as 
they  were  paid  for  it.  Don't  talk  to  me  of 
them  —  I  know  them." 

They  were  passing  out  of  the  chapel  to- 
gether, and  he  made  an  impatient  gesture 
as  if  dismissing  the  subject.  Accustomed 
though  she  was  to  the  sweeping  criticism  of 
her  Catholic  friends  by  her  West  Wood- 
lands associates,  she  was  nevertheless  hurt 
by  his  brusqueness.  She  dropped  a  little 
behind,  and  they  separated  at  the  porch. 
Notwithstanding  her  anxiety  to  see  her 
aunt,  she  felt  she  could  not  now  go  to  Dea- 
con Shad  well's  without  seeming  to  follow 
him  —  and  after  he  had  assured  her  that 
her  help  was  not  required!  She  turned 
aside  and  made  her  way  slowly  towards  her 
home. 

There  she  found  that  her  aunt  had  not 
returned,  gathering  from  her  uncle  that  she 
was  recovering  from  a  fit  of  "high  strikes" 
(hysterics),  and  would  be  better  alone. 


An  JZpisode  of  West  Woodlands.     261 

Whether  he  underrated  her  complaint,  or 
had  a  consciousness  of  his  masculine  help- 
lessness in  such  disorders,  he  evidently 
made  light  of  it.  And  when  Cissy,  after- 
wards, a  little  ashamed  that  she  had  allowed 
her  momentary  pique  against  Brother  Sea- 
bright  to  stand  in  the  way  of  her  duty,  de- 
termined to  go  to  her  aunt,  instead  of  re- 
turning to  the  chapel  that  evening,  he  did 
not  oppose  it.  She  learned  also  that  Mr. 
Braggs  had  called  in  the  morning,  but, 
finding  that  her  aunt  Vashti  was  at  chapel, 
he  had  followed  her  there,  intending  to  re- 
turn with  her.  But  he  had  not  been  seen 
since  the  service,  and  had  evidently  returned 
to  the  Mission. 

But  when  she  reached  Deacon  ShadweU's 
house  she  was  received  by  Mrs.  Shad  well 
only.  Her  aunt,  said  that  lady,  was  physi- 
cally better,  but  Brother  Seabright  had  left 
"partkler  word"  that  she  was  to  see  no- 
body. It  was  an  extraordinary  case  of 
"findin'  the  Lord,"  the  like  of  which  had 
never  been  known  before  in  West  Wood- 
lands, and  she  (Cissy)  would  yet  be  proud 
of  one  of  her  "fammerly  being  speshally 
selected  for  grace."  But  the  "workin's  o' 
salvation  was  not  to  be  finicked  away  on 


262    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

worldly  things  or  even  the  affections  of  the 
flesh;"  and  if  Cissy  really  loved  her  aunt, 
"she  wouldn't  interfere  with  her  while  she 
was,  so  to  speak,  still  on  the  mourners' 
bench,  wrastlin'  with  the  Sperret  in  their 
back  sittin'-room."  But  she  might  wait 
until  Brother  Seabright's  return  from  even- 
ing chapel  after  service. 

Cissy  waited.  Nine  o'clock  came,  but 
Brother  Seabright  did  not  return.  Then  a 
small  but  inconsequent  dignity  took  posses- 
sion of  her,  and  she  slightly  tossed  her  long 
curls  from  her  shoulders.  She  was  not 
going  to  wait  for  any  man's  permission  to 
see  her  own  aunt.  If  auntie  did  not  want 
to  see  her,  that  was  enough.  She  could  go 
home  alone.  She  didn't  want  anyone  to 
go  with  her. 

Lifted  and  sustained  by  these  loftly  con- 
siderations, with  an  erect  head  and  slightly 
ruffled  mane,  well  enwrapped  in  a  becom- 
ing white  merino  "cloud,"  the  young  girl 
stepped  out  on  her  homeward  journey. 
She  had  certainly  enough  to  occupy  her 
mind  and,  perhaps,  justify  her  independ- 
ence. To  have  a  suitor  for  her  hand  in 
the  person  of  the  superior  and  wealthy  Mr. 
Braggs,  —  for  that  was  what  his  visit  that 


An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands.    263 

morning  to  West  Woodlands  meant,  —  and 
to  be  personally  complimented  on  her  im- 
provement by  the  famous  Brother  Sea- 
bright,  all  within  twelve  hours,  was  some- 
thing to  be  proud  of,  even  although  it 
was  mitigated  by  her  aunt's  illness,  her 
suitor's  abrupt  departure,  and  Brother 
Seabright's  momentary  coldness  and  impa- 
tience. Oddly  enough,  this  last  and  ap- 
parently trivial  circumstance  occupied  her 
thoughts  more  than  the  others.  She  found 
herself  looking  out  for  him  in  the  windings 
of  the  moonlit  road,  and  when,  at  last,  she 
reached  the  turning  towards  the  little  wood 
and  chapel,  her  small  feet  unconsciously 
lingered  until  she  felt  herself  blushing  un- 
der her  fleecy  "cloud."  She  looked  down 
the  lane.  From  the  point  where  she  was 
standing  the  lights  of  the  chapel  should 
have  been  plainly  visible;  but  now  all  was 
dark.  It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock,  and  he 
must  have  gone  home  by  another  road. 
Then  a  spirit  of  adventure  seized  her.  She 
had  the  key  of  the  chapel  in  her  pocket. 
She  remembered  she  had  left  a  small  black 
Spanish  fan  —  a  former  gift  of  Mr.  Braggs 
—  lying  on  the  harmonium.  She  would  go 
and  bring  it  away,  and  satisfy  herself  that 


264    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

Brother  Seabright  was  not  there  still.  It 
was  but  a  step,  and  in  the  clear  moonlight. 
The  lane  wound  before  her  like  a  silver 
stream,  except  where  it  was  interrupted  and 
bridged  over  by  jagged  black  shadows. 
The  chapel  itself  was  black,  the  clustering 
trees  around  it  were  black  also ;  the  porch 
seemed  to  cover  an  inky  well  of  shadow; 
the  windows  were  rayless  and  dead,  and  in 
the  chancel  one  still  left  open  showed  a 
yawning  vault  of  obscurity  within.  Never- 
theless, she  opened  the  door  softly,  glided 
into  the  dark  depths,  and  made  her  way  to 
the  harmonium.  But  here  the  sound  of 
footsteps  without  startled  her;  she  glanced 
hurriedly  through  the  open  window,  and 
saw  the  figure  of  Elisha  Braggs  suddenly 
revealed  in  the  moonlight  as  he  crossed  the 
path  behind  the  chapel.  He  was  closely 
followed  by  two  peons,  whom  she  recog- 
nized as  his  servants  at  the  Mission,  and 
they  each  carried  a  pickaxe.  From  their 
manner  it  was  evident  that  they  had  no  sus- 
picion of  her  presence  in  the  chapel.  But 
they  had  stopped  and  were  listening.  Her 
heart  beat  quickly ;  with  a  sudden  instinct 
she  ran  and  bolted  the  door.  But  it  was 
evidently  another  intruder  they  were  watch- 


An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands.    265 

ing,  for  she  presently  saw  Brother  Sea- 
bright  quietly  cross  the  lane  and  approach 
the  chapel.  The  three  men  had  disap- 
peared; but  there  was  a  sudden  shout,  the 
sound  of  scuffling,  the  deep  voice  of  Brother 
Seabright  saying,  "Back,  there,  will  you! 
Hands  off!"  and  a  pause.  She  could  see 
nothing;  she  listened  in  every  pulse.  Then 
the  voice  of  Brother  Seabright  arose  again 
quite  clearly,  slowly,  and  as  deliberately  as 
if  it  had  risen  from  the  platform  in  the 
chapel. 

"Lish  Barker!  I  thought  as  much! 
Lish  Barker,  first  mate  of  the  Tamalpais, 
who  was  said  to  have  gone  down  with  a 
boat's  crew  and  the  ship's  treasure  after  she 
struck.  I  thought  I  knew  that  face  to- 
day." 

"Yes,"  said  the  voice  of  him  whom  she 
had  known  as  Elisha  Braggs,  —  "yes,  and 
I  knew  your  face,  Jim  Seabright,  ex- 
whaler,  slaver,  pirate,  and  bo's'ii  of  the 
Highflyer,  marooned  in  the  South  Pacific, 
where  you  found  the  Lord  —  ha !  ha !  — 
and  became  the  psalm-singing,  converted 
American  sailor  preacher !  " 

"I  am  not  ashamed  before  men  of  my 
past,  which  every  one  knows,"  returned 


266    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

Seabright  slowly.  "  But  what  of  yours, 
Elisha  Barker  —  yours  that  has  made  you 
sham  death  itself  to  hide  it  from  them? 
What  of  yours  —  spent  in  the  sloth  of  your 
ill-gotten  gains!  Turn,  sinner,  turn! 
Turn,  Elisha  Braggs,  while  there  is  yet 
time!" 

"Belay  there,  Brother  Seabright;  we're 
not  inside  your  gospel -shop  just  now  ! 
Keep  your  palaver  for  those  that  need  it. 
Let  me  pass,  before  I  have  to  teach  you  that 
you  haven't  to  deal  with  a  gang  of  hysteri- 
cal old  women  to-night." 

"But  not  until  you  know  that  one  of 
those  women,  — Vashti  White,  — by  God's 
grace  converted  of  her  sins,  has  confessed 
her  secret  and  yours,  Elisha  Barker !  Yes ! 
She  has  told  me  how  her  sister's  husband  — 
the  father  of  the  young  girl  you  are  trying 
to  lure  away  —  helped  you  off  that  night 
with  your  booty,  took  his  miserable  reward 
and  lived  and  died  in  exile  with  the  rest 
of  your  wretched  crew,  —  afraid  to  return 
to  his  home  and  country  —  whilst  you  - 
shameless  and  impenitent  —  lived  in  sloth- 
ful ease  at  the  Mission !  " 

"  Liar !     Let  me  pass !  " 

"Not  until  I  know  your  purpose  here  to- 
night." 


An  Episode,  of  West  Woodlands.    267 

"Then  take  the  consequences!  Here, 
Pedro!  Ramon!  Seize  him.  Tie  him 
head  and  heels  together,  and  toss  him  in 
the  bush!" 

The  sound  of  scuffling  recommenced. 
The  struggle  seemed  fierce  and  lon£,  with 
no  breath  wasted  in  useless  outcry.  Then 
there  was  a  bright  flash,  a  muffled  report, 
and  the  stinging  and  fire  of  gunpowder  at 
the  window. 

Transfixed  with  fear,  Cissy  cast  a  de- 
spairing glance  around  her.  Ah,  the  bell- 
rope  !  In  another  instant  she  had  grasped 
it  frantically  in  her  hands. 

All  the  fear,  indignation,  horror,  sympa- 
thy, and  wild  appeal  for  help  that  had 
arisen  helplessly  in  her  throat  and  yet  re- 
mained unuttered,  now  seemed  to  thrill 
through  her  fingers  and  the  tightened  rope, 
and  broke  into  frantic  voice  in  the  clanging 
metal  above  her.  The  whole  chapel,  the 
whole  woodland,  the  clear,  moonlit  sky 
above  was  filled  with  its  alarming  accents. 
It  shrieked,  implored,  protested,  summoned, 
and  threatened,  in  one  ceaseless  outcry, 
seeming  to  roll  over  and  over  —  as,  indeed, 
it  did  —  in  leaps  and  bounds  that  shook  the 
belfry.  Never  before,  even  in  the  blows  of 


268    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

the  striking  surges,  had  the  bell  of  the 
Tamalpais  clamored  like  that!  Once  she 
heard  above  the  turmoil  the  shaking  of  the 
door  against  the  bolt  that  still  held  firmly ; 
once  she  thought  she  heard  Seabright's 
voice  calling  to  her;  once  she  thought  she 
smelled  the  strong  smoke  of  burning  grass. 
But  she  kept  on,  until  the  window  was  sud- 
denly darkened  by  a  figure,  and  Brother 
Seabright,  leaping  in,  caught  her  in  his 
arms  as  she  was  reeling  fainting,  but  still 
clinging  to  the  rope.  But  his  strong  pres- 
ence and  some  powerful  magnetism  in  his 
touch  restored  her. 

"You  have  heard  all!  "  he  said. 

"Yes." 

"Then  for  your  aunt's  sake,  for  your  dead 
father's  sake,  forget  all!  That  wretched 
man  has  fled  with  his  wounded  hirelings  — 
let  his  sin  go  with  him.  But  the  village  is 
alarmed  —  the  brethren  may  be  here  any 
moment!  Neither  question  nor  deny  what 
I  shall  tell  them.  Fear  nothing.  God  will 
forgive  the  silence  that  leaves  the  vengeance 
to  His  hands  alone !  "  Voices  and  footsteps 
were  heard  approaching  the  chapel.  Brother 
Seabright  significantly  pressed  her  hand 
and  strode  towards  the  door.  Deacon 
Shadwell  was  first  to  enter. 


An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands.    269 

"  You  here  —  Brother  Seabright !  What 
has  happened?  " 

"God  be  praised!"  said  Brother  Sea- 
bright  cheerfully,  "nothing  of  consequence! 
The  danger  is  over !  Yet,  but  for  the  cour- 
age and  presence  of  mind  of  Sister  Appleby 
a  serious  evil  might  have  been  done."  He 
paused,  and  with  another  voice  turned  half- 
interrogatively  towards  her.  "Some  chil- 
dren, or  a  passing  tramp,  had  carelessly 
thrown  matches  in  the  underbrush,  and  they 
were  ignited  beside  the  chapel.  Sister  Ap- 
pleby, chancing  to  return  here  for  "  — 

"For  my  fan,"  said  Cissy  with  a  timid 
truthfulness  of  accent. 

"Found  herself  unable  to  cope  with  it, 
and  it  occurred  to  her  to  give  the  alarm 
you  heard.  I  happened  to  be  passing  and 
was  first  to  respond.  Haply  the  flames  had 
made  but  little  headway,  and  were  quickly 
beaten  down.  It  is  all  over  now.  But  let 
us  hope  that  the  speedy  clearing  out  of  the 
underbrush  and  the  opening  of  the  woods 
around  the  chapel  will  prevent  any  recur- 
rence of  the  alarm  of  to-night." 

That  the  lesson  thus  reiterated  by  Brother 
Seabright  was  effective,  the  following  ex- 


270    An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands. 

tract,  from  the  columns  of  the  "Whale 
Point  Gazette,"  may  not  only  be  offered  as 
evidence,  but  may  even  give  the  cautious 
reader  further  light  on  the  episode  itself :  — 

STRANGE  DISCOVERY  AT  WEST  WOOD- 
LANDS. —  THE  TAMALPAIS  MYSTERY 
AGAIN. 

The  improvements  in  the  clearing  around 
the  Sidon  Chapel  at  West  Woodlands, 
undertaken  by  the  Rev.  James  Seabright, 
have  disclosed  another  link  in  the  mystery 
which  surrounded  the  loss  of  the  Tamal- 
pais  some  years  ago  at  Whale  Mouth 
Point.  It  will  be  remembered  that  the 
boat  containing  Adams  &  Co.'s  treasure, 
the  Tamalpais'  first  officer,  and  a  crew  of 
four  men  was  lost  on  the  rocks  shortly 
after  leaving  the  ill-fated  vessel.  None 
of  the  bodies  were  ever  recovered,  and 
the  treasure  itself  completely  baffled  the 
search  of  divers  and  salvers.  A  lidless 
box  bearing  the  mark  of  Adams  &  Co.,  of 
the  kind  in  which  their  treasure  was  usually 
shipped,  was  yesterday  found  in  the  woods 
behind  the  chapel,  half  buried  in  brush, 
bark,  and  windfalls.  There  were  no  other 
indications,  except  the  traces  of  a  camp-fir? 


An  Episode  of  West  Woodlands.    271 

at  some  remote  period,  probably  long  be- 
fore the  building  of  the  chapel.  But  how 
and  when  the  box  was  transported  to  the 
upland,  and  by  whose  agency,  still  remains 
a  matter  of  conjecture.  Our  reporter  who 
visited  the  Rev.  Mr.  SeabrightJ  who  has 
lately  accepted  the  regular  ministry  of  the 
chapel,  was  offered  every  facility  for  in- 
formation, but  it  was  evident  that  the  early 
settlers  who  were  cognizant  of  the  fact  —  if 
there  were  any  —  are  either  dead  or  have 
left  $he  vicinity. 


THE  HOME-COMING  OF  JIM  WILKES. 
I. 

FOR  many  minutes  there  had  been  no 
sound  but  the  monotonous  drumming  of  the 
rain  on  the  roof  of  the  coach,  the  swishing 
of  wheels  through  the  gravelly  mud,  and  the 
momentary  clatter  of  hoofs  upon  some  rpcky 
outcrop  in  the  road.  Conversation  had 
ceased;  the  light-hearted  young  editor  in 
the  front  seat,  more  than  suspected  of  dan- 
gerous levity,  had  relapsed  into  silence 
since  the  heavy  man  in  the  middle  seat  had 
taken  to  regarding  the  ceiling  with  ostenta- 
tious resignation,  and  the  thin  female  be- 
side him  had  averted  her  respectable  bon- 
net. An  occasional  lurch  of  the  coach 
brought  down  a  fringe  of  raindrops  from 
its  eaves  that  filmed  the  windows  and  shut 
out  the  sodden  prospect  already  darkening 
into  night.  There  had  been  a  momentary 
relief  in  their  hurried  dash  through  Summit 
Springs,  and  the  spectacle  of  certain  newly 
arrived  County  Delegates  crowding  the 


The  Home -Coming  of  Jim  Wilkes.    273 

veranda  of  its  one  hotel;  but  that  was  now 
three  miles  behind.  The  young  editor's 
sole  resource  was  to  occasionally  steal  a 
glance  at  the  face  of  the  one  passenger  who 
seemed  to  be  in  sympathy  with  ^im,  but 
who  was  too  far  away  for  easy  conversa- 
tion. It  was  the  half -amused,  half -perplexed 
face  of  a  young  man  who  had  been  for  some 
time  regarding  him  from  a  remote  corner  of 
the  coach  with  an  odd  mingling  of  admir- 
ing yet  cogitating  interest,  which,  however, 
had  never  extended  to  any  further  encour- 
agement than  a  faint  sad  smile.  Even  this 
at  last  faded  out  in  the  growing  darkness ; 
the  powerful  coach  lamps  on  either  side 
that  flashed  on  the  wayside  objects  gave 
no  light  to  the  interior.  Everybody  was 
slowly  falling  asleep.  Suddenly  everybody 
woke  up  to  find  that  the  coach  was  appar- 
ently standing  still !  When  it  had  stopped 
no  one  knew!  The  young  editor  lowered 
his  window.  The  coach  lamp  on  that  side 
was  missing,  but  nothing  was  to  be  seen. 
In  the  distance  there  appeared  to  be  a  faint 
splashing. 

"Well,"  called  out  an  impatient  voice 
from  the  box  above ;  "  what  do  you  make 
it?"  It  was  the  authoritative  accents  of 


274    The  Home -Coming  of  Jim  Wilkes. 

Yuba  Bill,  the  driver,  and  everybody  lis- 
tened eagerly  for  the  reply. 

It  came  faintly  from  the  distance  and  the 
splashing.  "Almost  four  feet  here,  and 
deepening  as  you  go." 

"Dead  water?" 

"No  —  back  water  from  the  Fork." 

There  was  a  general  movement  towards 
the  doors  and  windows.  The  splashing 
came  nearer.  Then  a  light  flashed,  on  the 
trees,  the  windows,  and  —  two  feet  of  yellow 
water  peacefully  flowing  beneath  them! 
The  thin  female  gave  a  slight  scream. 

"There  's  no  danger,"  said  the  Express- 
man, now  wading  towards  them  with  the 
coach  lamp  in  his  hand.  "But  we  '11  have 
to'  pull  round  out  of  it  and  go  back  to  the 
Springs.  There  's  no  getting  past  this 
break  to-night." 

"Why  did  n't  you  let  us  know  this  be- 
fore," said  the  heavy  man  indignantly  from 
the  window. 

"Jim,"  said  the  driver  with  that  slow 
deliberation  which  instantly  enforced  com- 
plete attention. 

"Yes,  Bill." 

"Have  you  got  a  spare  copy  of  that  reg- 
'lar  bulletin  that  the  Stage  Kempany  issoos 


The  Home -Coming  of  Jim  Wilkes.    275 

every  ten  minutes  to  each  passenger  to  tell 
'em  where  we  are,  how  far  it  is  to  the  next 
place,  and  wots  the  state  o'  the  weather 
gin'rally?" 

"No!"  said  the  Expressman  grimly,  as 
he  climbed  to  the  box  "there  's  not  one 
left.  Why?" 

"Cos  the  Emperor  of  Chiny  's  inside 
wan  tin'  one!  Hoop!  Keep  your  seats 
down  there!  G'lang!"  the  whip  cracked, 
there  was  a  desperate  splashing,  a  backward 
and  forward  jolting  of  the  coach,  the  glis- 
tening wet  flanks  and  tossing  heads  of  the 
leaders  seen  for  a  moment  opposite  the  win- 
dows, a  sickening  swirl  of  the  whole  body 
of  the  vehicle  as  if  parting  from  its  axles,  a 
long  straight  dragging  pull,  and  —  presently 
the  welcome  sound  of  hoofs  once  more  beat- 
ing the  firmer  ground. 

"Hi!     Holdup  — driver!" 

It  was  the  editor's  quiet  friend  who  was 
leaning  from  the  window. 

"Isn't  Wilkes's  ranch  just  off  here?  " 

"Yes,  half  a  mile  along  the  ridge,  I 
reckon,"  returned  the  driver  shortly. 

"Well,  if  you're  not  going  on  to-night, 
I  'd  get  off  and  stop  there." 

"I  reckon  your  head's  level,  stranger," 


276    The  Home -Coming  of  Jim  Wilkes. 

said  Bill  approvingly;   "for  they're  about 
chock  full  at  the  Springs'  House." 

To  descend,  the  passenger  was  obliged  to 
pass  out  by  the  middle  seat  and  before  the 
young  editor.  As  he  did  so  he  cast  a  shy 
look  on  him  and,  leaning  over,  said  hesitat- 
ingly, in  a  lower  voice:  "I  don't  think  you 
will  be  able  to  get  in  at  the  Springs  Hotel. 
If  —  if  —  you  care  to  come  with  me  to  —  to 
—  the  ranch,  I  can  take  care  of  you." 

The  young  editor  —  a  man  of  action  — 
paused  for  an  instant  only.  Then  seizing 
his  bag,  he  said  promptly:  "Thank  you," 
and  followed  his  newly -found  friend  to  the 
ground.  The  whip  cracked,  the  coach 
rolled  away. 

"You  know  Wilkes?"  he  said. 

"  Ye-ee-s.     He  's  my  father." 

"Ah,"  said  the  editor  cheerfully,  "then 
you  're  going  home  ?  " 

"Yes." 

It  was  quite  light  in  the  open,  and  the 
stranger,  after  a  moment's  survey  of  the 
prospect,  —  a  survey  that,  however,  seemed 
to  be  characterized  by  his  previous  hesita- 
tion, —  said :  "This  way,"  crossed  the  road, 
and  began  to  follow  a  quite  plain  but  long 
disused  wagon  track  along  the  slope.  His 


The  Home-Coming  of  Jim  Wilkes.    277 

manner  was  still  so  embarrassed  that  the 
young  editor,  after  gayly  repeating  his 
thanks  for  his  companion's  thoughtful  cour- 
tesy, followed  him  in  silence.  At  the  end 
of  ten  minutes  they  had  reached  some  cul- 
tivated fields  and  orchards;  the 'stranger 
brightened,  although  still  with  a  preoccu- 
pied air,  quickened  his  pace,  and  then  sud- 
denly stopped.  When  the  editor  reached 
his  side  he  was  gazing  with  apparently  still 
greater  perplexity  upon  the  level,  half  oblit- 
erated, and  blackened  foundations  of  what 
had  been  a  large  farmhouse. 

"Why,  it's  been  burnt  down!"  he  said 
thoughtfully. 

The  editor  stared  at  him!  Burnt  down 
it  certainly  had  been,  but  by  no  means  re- 
cently. Grasses  were  already  springing  up 
from  the  charred  beams  in  the  cellar,  vines 
were  trailing  over  the  fallen  chimneys,  ex- 
cavations, already  old,  had  been  made 
among  the  ruins.  "When  were  you  here 
last?"  the  editor  asked  abruptly. 

"Five  years  ago,"  said  the  stranger  ab- 
stractedly. 

"  Five  years !  —  and  you  knew  nothing  of 
this?" 

"No.  I  was  in  Tafiiti,  Australia,  Japan, 
and  China  all  the  time." 


278    The  Home- Coming  of  Jim  Wilkes. 

"And  you  never  heard  from  home?" 

"No.  You  see  I  quo'led  with  the  old 
man,  and  ran  away." 

"And  you  didn't  write  to  tell  them  you 
were  coming?  " 

"No."  He  hesitated,  and  then  added: 
"Never  thought  o'  coming  till  I  saw  you." 

"Me!" 

"Yes  ;  you  and  —  the  high  water." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  said  the  young 
editor  sharply,  "  that  you  brought  me  — 
an  utter  stranger  to  you  —  out  of  that  coach 
to  claim  the  hospitality  of  a  father  you 
had  quarreled  with  —  hadn't  seen  for  five 
years  and  did  n't  know  if  he  would  receive 
you?" 

"Yes,  — you  see  that's  just  why  I  did 
it.  You  see,  I  reckoned  my  chances  would 
be  better  to  see  him  along  with  a  cheer- 
ful, chipper  fellow  like  you.  I  did  n't,  of 
course,  kalkilate  on  this,"  he  added,  point- 
ing dejectedly  to  the  ruins. 

The  editor  gasped ;  then  a  sudden  concep- 
tion of  the  unrivaled  absurdity  of  the  situ- 
ation flashed  upon  him,  —  of  his  passively 
following  the  amiable  idiot  at  his  side  in 
order  to  contemplate,  by  the  falling  rain 
and  lonely  night,  a  heap  of  sodden  ruins, 


The  Home -Coming  of  Jim  Wilkes.    279 

while  the  coach  was  speeding  to  Summit 
Springs  and  shelter,  and,  above  all,  the 
reason  why  he  was  invited,  —  until,  putting 
down  his  bag,  he  leaned  upon  his  stick,  and 
laughed  until  the  tears  came  to  his  eyes. 

At  which  his  companion  visibly  bright- 
ened. "I  told  you  so,"  he  said  cheerfully; 
"I  knew  you  'd  be  able  to  take  it  —  and  the 
old  man  —  in  that  way,  and  that  would 
have  fetched  him  round." 

"For  Heaven's  sake!  don't  talk  any 
more,"  said  the  editor,  wiping  his  eyes, 
"but  try  to  remember  if  you  ever  had  any 
neighbors  about  here  where  we  can  stay  to- 
night. We  can't  walk  to  Summit  Springs, 
and  we  can't  camp  out  on  these  ruins." 

"There  did  n't  use  to  be  anybody  nearer 
than  the  Springs." 

"But  that  was  five  years  ago,  you  say," 
said  the  editor  impatiently;  "and  although 
your  father  probably  moved  away  after  the 
house  burned  down,  the  country  's  been 
thickly  settled  since  then.  That  field  has 
been  lately  planted.  There  must  be  an- 
other house  beyond.  Let 's  follow  the  trail 
a  little  farther." 

They  tramped  along  in  silence,  this  time 
the, editor  leading.  Presently  he  stopped. 


280    The  Home-Coming  of  Jim  Wilkes. 

"There's  a  house  —  in  there  —  among  the 
trees,"  he  said,  pointing.  "Whose  is  it?" 
The  stranger  shook  his  head  dubiously. 
Although  apparently  unaffected  by  any 
sentimental  consideration  of  his  father's 
misfortune,  the  spectacle  of  the  blackened 
ruins  of  the  homestead  had  evidently  shaken 
his  preconceived  plans.  "It  wasn't  there 
in  my  time,"  he  said  musingly. 

"But  it  is  there  in  our  time,"  responded 
the  editor  briskly,  "and  /  propose  to  go 
there.  From  what  you  have  told  me  of 
your  father  —  even  if  his  house  were  still 
standing  —  our  chances  of  getting  supper 
and  a  bed  from  him  would  be  doubtful !  I 
suppose,"  he  continued  as  they  moved  on 
together,  "you  left  him  in  anger  —  five 
years  ago?" 
"Ye-es." 

"Did  he  say  anything  as  you  left?  " 
"I   don't  remember  anything  particular 
that  he  said." 

"Well,  what  did  he  do ?" 
"Shot  at  me  from  the  window! " 
"  Ah  !  "   said   the    young   editor   softly. 
Nevertheless  they  walked  on  for  some  time 
in  silence.     Gradually  a  white  picket  fence 
came    into  view  at   right   angles  with  .the 


The  Home-Coming  of  Jim  Wilkes.    281 

trail,  and  a  man  appeared  walking  leisurely 
along  what  seemed  to  be  the  regularly  trav- 
eled road,  beside  it.  The  editor,  who  had 
taken  matters  in  his  own  hands,  without 
speaking  to  his  companion,  ran  quickly  for- 
ward and  accosted  the  stranger,  briefly  stat- 
ing that  he  had  left  the  stage-coach  with  a 
companion,  because  it  was  stopped  by  high 
water,  and  asked,  without  entering  into 
further  details,  to  be  directed  to  some  place 
where  they  could  pass  the  night.  The  man 
quite  as  briefly  directed  him  to  the  house 
among  the  trees,  which  he  said  was  his  own, 
and  then  leisurely  pursued  his  way  along 
the  road.  The  young  editor  ran  back  to 
his  companion,  who  had  halted  in  the  drip- 
ping shadow  of  a  sycamore,  and  recounted 
his  good  fortune. 

"I  did  n't,"  he  added,  "say  anything 
about  your  father.  You  can  make  inquiries 
yourself  later." 

"  I  reckon  there  won't  be  much  need 
of  that,"  returned  his  companion.  "You 
didn't  take  much  note  o'  that  man,  did 
you?" 

"Not  much,"  said  the  editor. 

"Well,  that's  my  father,  and  I  reckon 
that  new  house  must  be  his." 


282    The  Home -Coming  of  Jim  Wilkes. 


II. 

The  young  editor  was  a  little  startled. 
The  man  he  had  just  quitted  certainly  was 
not  dangerous  looking,  and  yet,  remember- 
ing what  his  son  had  said,  there  were  homi- 
cidal possibilities.  "Look  here,"  he  said 
quickly,  "he  's  not  there  now.  Why  don't 
you  seize  the  opportunity  to  slip  into  the 
house,  make  peace  with  your  mother  and 
sisters,  and  get  them  to  intercede  with  your 
father  when  he  returns?" 

"Thar  ain't  any  mother;  she  died  afore 
I  left.  My  sister  Almiry  's  a  little  girl  — 
though  that  's  four  years  ago  and  mebbee 
she  's  growed.  My  brothers  and  me  didn't 
pull  together  much.  But  I  was  thinkin' 
that  mebbee  you  might  go  in  thar  for  me 
first,  and  see  how  the  land  lays ;  then  sorter 
tell  'em  'bout  me  in  your  takin',  chipper, 
easy  way;  make  'em  laugh,  and  when 
you  've  squared  'em  —  I  '11  be  hangin'  round 
outside  —  you  kin  call  me  in.  Don't  you 
see?" 

The  young  editor  did  see.  Ridiculous 
as  the  proposal  would  have  seemed  to  him 
an  hour  ago,  it  now  appeared  practical,  and 


The  Home -Coming  of  Jim  Wilkes.    283 

even  commended  itself  to  his  taste.  His 
name  was  well  known  in  the  county  and 
his  mediation  might  be  effective.  Perhaps 
his  vanity  was  slightly  flattered  by  his  com- 
panion's faith  in  him;  perhaps  he  W-as  not 
free  from  a  certain  human  curiosity  to 
know  the  rest ;  perhaps  he  was  more  inter- 
ested than  he  cared  to  confess  in  the  help- 
less home-seeker  beside  him. 

"But  you  must  tell  me  something  more 
of  yourself,  and  your  fortune  and  pros- 
pects. They  '11  be  sure  to  ask  questions." 

"Mebbee  they  won't.  But  you  can  say 
I  've  done  well  —  made  my  pile  over  in 
Australia,  and  ain't  comin'  on  them.  Re- 
member—  say  I  '  ain't  comin'  on  them  ' !  " 

The  editor  nodded,  and  then,  as  if  fearful 
of  letting  his  present  impulse  cool,  ran  off 
towards  the  house. 

It  was  large  and  respectable  looking,  and 
augured  well  for  the  present  fortunes  of  the 
Wilkes's.  The  editor  had  determined  to 
attack  the  citadel  on  its  weaker,  feminine 
side,  and  when  the  front  door  was  opened 
to  his  knock,  asked  to  see  Miss  Almira 
Wilkes.  The  Irish  servant  showed  him 
into  a  comfortable  looking  sitting-room, 
and  in  another  moment  with  a  quick  rustle 


284     The  Home -Coming  of  Jim  Wilkes. 

of  skirts  in  the  passage  a  very  pretty  girl 
impulsively  entered.  From  the  first  flash 
of  her  keen  blue  eyes  the  editor  —  a  fair 
student  of  the  sex  —  conceived  the  idea  that 
she  had  expected  somebody  else;  from  the 
second  that  she  was  an  arrant  flirt,  and  did 
not  intend  to  be  disappointed.  This  much 
was  in  his  favor. 

Spurred  by  her  provoking  eyes  and  the 
novel  situation,  he  stated  his  business  with 
an  airy  lightness  and  humor  that  seemed  to 
justify  his  late  companion's  estimate  of  his 
powers.  But  even  in  his  cynical  attitude 
he  was  unprepared  for  the  girl's  reception 
of  his  news.  He  had  expected  some  indig- 
nation or  even  harshness  towards  this  man 
whom  he  was  beginning  to  consider  as  a 
kind  of  detrimental  outcast  or  prodigal,  but 
he  was  astounded  at  the  complete  and  utter 
indifference  —  the  frank  and  heartless  un- 
concern—  with  which  she  heard  of  his  re- 
turn. When  she  had  followed  the  narrator 
rather  than  his  story  to  the  end,  she  lan- 
guidly called  her  brothers  from  the  adjoin- 
ing room.  "This  gentleman,  Mr.  Grey,  of 
the  '  Argus, '  has  come  across  Jim  —  and 
Jim  is  calculating  to  come  here  and  see 
father." 


The,  Home  -  Coming  of  Jim  Wilkes.    285 

The  two  brothers  stared  at  Grey,  slightly 
shrugged  their  shoulders  with  the  same  utter 
absence  of  fraternal  sympathy  or  concern 
which  the  girl  had  shown,  and  said  nothing. 

"One  moment,"  said  Grey  a  little- warmly ; 
"I  have  no  desire  to  penetrate  family  se- 
crets, but  would  you  mind  telling  me  if 
there  is  any  grave  reason  why  he  should  not 
come.  Was  there  any  scandalous  conduct, 
unpardonable  offense  —  let  us  even  say  — 
any  criminal  act  on  his  part  which  makes 
his  return  to  this  roof  impossible?" 

The  three  looked  at  each  other  with  a 
dull  surprise  that  ended  in  a  vacant  won- 
dering smile.  "No,  no,"  they  said  in  one 
voice.  "No,  only  " 

"Only  what?"  asked  Grey  impatiently. 

"Dad  just  hates  him!" 

"Like  pizon,"  smiled  Almira. 

The  young  editor  rose  with  a  slight  in- 
crease of  color.  "Look  here,"  said  the  girl, 
whose  dimples  had  deepened  as  she  keenly 
surveyed  him,  as  if  detecting  some  amorous 
artifice  under  his  show  of  interest  for  her 
brother.  "Dad  's  gone  down  to  the  sheep- 
fold  and  won't  be  back  for  an  hour.  Yo' 
might  bring  —  yo*  friend  —  in. " 

"He  ain't  wantin'  anything?    Ain't  dead 


286     The  Home- Coming  of  Jim  Wilkes. 

broke?  nor  nothin',  eh?"  suggested  one  of 
the  brothers  dubiously. 

Grey  hastened  to  assure  them  of  Jim's 
absolute  solvency,  and  even  enlarged  con- 
siderably on  his  Australian-  fortune.  They 
looked  relieved  but  not  interested. 

"  Go  and  fetch  him,"  said  the  witch, 
archly  hovering  near  Grey  with  dancing 
eyes;  "and  mind  yo1  come  back,  too!  " 

Grey  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  passed 
out  in  the  dark  porch.  A  dripping  figure 
emerged  from  the  trees  opposite.  It  was 
Jim. 

"Your  sister  and  brothers  will  see  you," 
said  Grey  hastily,  to  avoid  embarrassing 
details.  "He  won't  be  here  for  an  hour. 
But  I  'd  advise  you  to  make  the  most  of 
your  time,  and  get  the  good -will  of  your 
sister."  He  would  have  drawn  back  to  let 
the  prodigal  pass  in  alone,  but  the  man  ap- 
pealingly  seized  his  arm,  and  Grey  was 
obliged  to  reenter  with  him.  He  noticed, 
however,  that  he  breathed  hard. 

They  turned  slightly  towards  their  rela- 
tive, but  did  not  offer  to  shake  hands  with 
him,  nor  did  he  with  them.  He  sat  down 
sideways  on  an  unoffered  chair.  "The  old 
house  got  burnt! "  he  said,  wiping  his  lips, 


The  Home -Corning  of  Jim  Wilkes.    287 

and  then  drying  his  wet  hair  with  his  hand- 
kerchief. 

As  the  remark  was  addressed  to  no  one 
in  particular  it  was  some  seconds  before  the 
elder  brother  replied :  "Yes." 

"  Almira  's  growed." 

Again  no  one  felt  called  upon  to  answer, 
and  Almira  glanced  archly  at  the  young 
editor  as  if  he  might  have  added :  "  and  im- 
proved." 

"You've  done  well?"  returned  one  of 
the  brothers  tentatively. 

"Yes,  I  'm  all  right,"  said  Jim. 

There  was  another  speechless  interval. 
Even  the  conversational  Grey  felt  under 
some  unhallowed  spell  of  silence  that  he 
could  not  break. 

"I  see  the  old  well  is  there  yet,"  said 
Jim,  wiping  his  lips  again. 

"Where  dad  was  once  goin'  to  chuck  you 
down  for  givin'  him  back  talk,"  said  the 
younger  brother  casually. 

To  Mr.  Grey's  relief  and  yet  astonish- 
ment, Jim  burst  into  a  loud  laugh  and 
rubbed  his  legs.  "That's  so  —  how  old 
times  do  come  back!  " 

"  And,"  said  the  bright-eyed  Almira, 
"  there  's  that  old  butternut-tree  that  you 


288     The  Home  -  Coming  of  Jim  Wilkes. 

shinned  up  one  day  when  we  set  the  hounds 
on  you.  Goodness!  how  you  scooted!  " 

Again  Jim  laughed  loudly  and  nodded. 
"Yes,  the  same  old  butternut.  How  you  do 
remember,  Almira!"  This  admiringly, 

"And  don't  you  remember  Delia  Short?  " 
continued  Almira,  pleased  at  the  admira- 
tion, and  perhaps  a  little  exalted  at  the 
singular  attention  which  the  young  editor 
was  giving  to  those  cheerful  reminiscences. 
"She,  you  know,  you  was  reg'larly  sick 
after,  so  that  we  always  allowed  she  kinder 
turned  yo'  brain  afore  you  went  away! 
Well!  all  the  while  you  were  courtin'  her 
it  appears  she  was  secretly  married  to  Jo 
-  yo'  friend  —  Jo  Stacy.  Lord!  there  was 
a  talk  about  that !  and  about  yo'  all  along 
thinkin'  yo'  had  chances!  Yo'  friend  here," 
with  an  arch  glance  at  Grey,  "who  's  allus 
puttin'  folks  in  the  newspapers,  orter  get  a 
hold  on  that!" 

Jim  again  laughed  louder  than  the  oth- 
ers, and  rubbed  his  lips.  Grey,  however, 
offered  only  the  tribute  of  a  peculiar  smile 
and  walked  to  the  window.  "You  say  your 
father  will  return  in  an  hour?"  he  said, 
turning  to  the  elder  brother. 

"Yes,  unless  he  kept  011  to  Watson's." 


The  Home -Coming  of  Jim  Wilkes.    289 

"Where?  "  said  Jim  suddenly. 

It  struck  Grey  that  his  voice  had  changed 
—  or  rather  that  he  was  now  speaking  for 
the  first  time  in  his  natural  tone. 

"Watson's,  just  over  the  bridge,"  ex- 
plained his  brother.  "If  he  went  there  he 
won't  be  back  till  ten." 

Jim  picked  up  his  India  rubber  cape  and 
hat,  said,  "  I  reckon  I  '11  just  take  a  turn 
outside  until  he  gets  back,"  and  walked 
towards  the  door.  None  of  his  relatives 
moved  nor  seemed  to  offer  any  opposition. 
Grey  followed  him  quickly.  "I  '11  go  with 
you,"  he  said. 

"No,"  returned  Jim  with  singular  ear- 
nestness. "You  stay  here  and  keep  'em 
up  cheerful  like  this.  They  're  doing  all 
this  for  you,  you  know;  Almiry  's  just  this 
chipper  only  on  your  account." 

Seeing  the  young  man  was  inflexible, 
Grey  returned  grimly  to  the  room,  but  not 
until  he  had  noticed,  with  some  surprise, 
that  Jim,  immediately  on  leaving  the  house, 
darted  off  at  a  quick  run  through  the  rain 
and  darkness.  Preoccupied  with  this,  and 
perhaps  still  influenced  by  the  tone  of  the 
previous  conversation,  he  did  not  respond 
readily  to  the  fair  Almira's  conversational 


290    The  Home -Coming  of  Jim  Wilkes. 

advances,  and  was  speedily  left  to  a  seat  by 
the  fire  alone.  At  the  end  of  ten  minutes 
he  regretted  he  had  ever  come;  when  half 
an  hour  had  passed  he  wondered  if  he  had 
not  better  try  to  reach  the  Summit  alone. 
With  the  lapse  of  an  hour  he  began  to  feel 
uneasy  at  Jim's  prolonged  absence  in  spite 
of  the  cold  indifference  of  the  household. 
Suddenly  he  heard  stamping  in  the  porch, 
a  muttered  exclamation,  and  the  voices  of 
the  two  brothers  in  the  hall.  "Why,  dad! 
what 's  up  ?  Yo'  look  half  drowned !  " 

The  door  opened  upon  the  sodden,  steam- 
ing figure  of  the  old  man  whom  he  had  met 
on  the  road,  followed  by  the  two  sons.  But 
he  was  evidently  more  occupied  and  pos- 
sessed by  some  mental  passion  than  by  his 
physical  discomfort.  Yet  strong  and  domi- 
nant over  both,  he  threw  off  his  wet  coat 
and  waistcoat  as  he  entered,  and  marched 
directly  to  the  fire.  Utterly  ignoring  the 
presence  of  a  stranger,  he  suddenly  turned 
and  faced  his  family. 

"Half  drowned.  Yes!  and  I  might  have 
been  hull  drowned  for  that  matter.  The 
back  water  of  the  Fork  is  all  over  Wat- 
son's, and  the  bridge  is  gone.  I  stumbled 
onto  this  end  of  it  in  the  dark,  and  went 


The  Home  -  Coming  of  Jim  Wilkes.    291 

off,  head  first,  into  twenty  feet  of  water! 
Tried  to  fight  my  way  out,  but  the  current 
was  agin  me.  I  'd  bin  down  twice,  and 
was  going  down  for  the  third  time,  when 
somebody  grabbed  me  by  the  scruff  o'  my 
neck  and  under  the  arm  —  so !  —  and  swam 
me  to  the  bank !  When  I  scrambled  up  I 
sez:  CI  can't  see  your  face,'  sez  I,  'I  don't 
know  who  you  are,'  sez  I,  'but  I  reckon 
you  're  a  white  man  and  clear  grit, '  sez  I, 
'  and  there  's  my  hand  on  it  ! '  And  he 
grabs  it  and  sez,  'We  're  quits,'  and  scooted 
out  o'  my  sight.  And,"  continued  the  old 
man  staring  at  their  faces  and  raising  his 
voice  almost  to  a  scream,  "who  do  you  think 
it  was?  Why,  that  sneakin'  hound  of  a 
brother  of  yours  —  Jim  !  Jim !  the  scalla- 
wag  that  I  booted  outer  the  ranch  five  years 
ago,  crawlin',  writhin'  back  again  after  all 
these  years  to  insult  his  old  father's  gray 
hairs !  And  some  of  you  —  by  God  —  once 
thought  that  /  was  hard  on  him  1 " 

The  sun  was  shining  brightly  the  next 
morning  as  the  young  editor  halted  the  up 
coach  in  the  now  dried  hollow.  As  he  was 
clambering  to  a  seat  beside  the  driver,  his 
elbow  was  jogged  at  the  window.  Looking 
down  he  saw  the  face  of  Jim. 


292    The  Home -Coming  of  Jim  Wilkes. 

"We  had  a  gay  talk  last  night,  remem- 
bering old  times,  did  n't  we  ? "  said  the 
prodigal  cheerfully. 

"Yes,  but  —  where  are  you  going  now?  " 

"Back  to  Australia,  I  reckon!  But  it 
was  mighty  good  to  drop  in  on  the  old 
homestead  once  more !  " 

"Eather,"  said  the  editor,  clinging  to 
the  window  and  lingering  in  mid-air  to  the 
manifest  impatience  of  Yuba  Bill;  "but  I 
say  —  look  here !  —  were  you  quite  satis- 
fied?" 

Jim's  hand  tightened  around  the  young 
editor's  as  he  answered  cheerfully,  "Yes." 
But  his  face  was  turned  away  from  the 
window. 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


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